


Teenage Dirtbag

by SosaLola



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-20 07:10:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 65,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4778171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SosaLola/pseuds/SosaLola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Halfrek gives Spike the curse that will change his entire life. Starts during Lover’s Walk, S3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
Empty dark streets stretch out before me with nothing stopping my stride but the resisting little witch I’m dragging behind me. If I didn’t need her sodding help, I’d have swung that microscope into her head like I did to her unconscious friend. Here he is draped over my shoulder causing me no grief. She trips, unable to keep up with me. I yank her up to her feet, and she tries to catch up with a whimper. There’s no time to waste, even the sweet smell of fresh blood covering the gush in the boy’s temple doesn’t hold me back. Just need to get back to the factory before the slayer gets a clue.  
  
“Please,” the girl moans, “I can’t…” She trips again, and with an annoyed curse, I carry her up as well.  _Humans,_  I think with disdain,  _Nothing but pains in the arse._  
  
Reaching our destination, I drop the girl to the floor and fling the boy on the old burnt-out bed. The memories this bloody place brings back – Dru’s scent still lingering in every corner, torturing my unbeating heart.  
  
_Stupid bitch. I’ll show her. The spell’s gonna get her back._  I dump a box full of supplies next to the boy, noticing the witch sitting on the edge of the bed, fiddling with her hands.  
  
“A spell. For me. You’re gonna do a spell for me,” I inform her, making sure all the stolen ingredients are laid out on the bed.  
  
“Uh, what kind of spell?” she asks nervously.  
  
“A  _love_  spell, are you brain dead?” I snap at her, heading for the dresser to seek a bottle of liquor. Cheap alcohol burns down my throat as I swallow the last drop of the bottle in a desperate attempt to numb the pain. With a sniff, I turn my gaze back to the wide green eyes, observing me.  
  
“What are you staring at?”  
  
She flinches, looking away. “Nothing.”  
  
“You can do it, right?” Desperation reeks out of my voice. “You can make Dru love me again. Make her crawl.”  
  
“I…I can try.”  _Ding, ding. Wrong answer._  
  
I grab her by the hair and pull her close, anger boiling inside me in waves. “What are you talking about, trying? You’ll do it!”  
  
“Yes, I’ll do it,” she replies with a strained voice. Her hand is aching to reach up and grab my wrist to lessen the pull on her scalp, but she knows better than to act on impulse.  
  
I let go of her, smashing the empty bottle on the bedpost, then hold the jagged end inches from her face. “You lie to me, I'll shove this through your face! Do you want that?”  
  
“No!”  
  
“Right through your brain!”  
  
Tears gather in her frightened eyes as she tries to shake her head no. “No,” she mewls weakly. “No, please, no.”  
  
A sudden puff of smoke explodes in my face. My loud curse mingles with the girl’s terrified scream. I step back and wave the smoke away only to grimace at the sight of a hideous demon face.  
  
“Who the bloody hell are you?” I look her up and down, surrounded by the mist, wearing a black cape that covers her body. Dark curls border a speckled face that regards me with naked disdain. Next to her on the floor is the girl, fear has paralyzed her in place, unable to move from where she’s fallen.  
  
“I have been called, and vengeance shall I wreak,” the demon threatens in a deep resonant voice.  
  
Bloody hell, she’s a vengeance demon. What’s she stalking me for? Dru was the one who left me for a chaos demon.  
  
She stares at my face piercingly and narrows her eyes. “William?”  
  
“Do I know you?” She looks familiar, though I can’t tell with that mottled face.  
  
“Doesn’t matter,” she says flatly. “Who do you think you are, treating this poor child like this?” She helps the trembling witch from the floor to the bed. “Can’t you see how terrified she is? And don’t get me started on that brutally injured boy!”  
  
If you ask me, the girl looks more terrified at the blotchy fingers running through her red hair.  
  
“Who do  _you_  think you are, barging in here uninvited?” I growl, holding the broken bottle to her face. “Bugger off. We’ve got a love spell to do.”  
  
“And I’ve got a wish to grant.”  
  
“A wish?” I echo, realizing what that meant. “You mean I get to make a wish? Against Dru? I’m the wronged party after all.”  
  
She shakes her head in disgust. “Men.” With a pitiful glance at the girl and the boy, she carries on, “You’ve obviously forgotten what it’s like to be a teenager in this cruel world. Perhaps I can remind you, if only this girl makes the wish.”  
  
The redhead nods her head frantically. “I do. I wish. This is me making the wish.”  
  
I look between them in incredulous confusion. “Wait a minute, I’m the one…”  
  
“Wish granted,” she interrupts me with that resonant voice again.  
  
White light attacks me from all sides, hot, hot light, scorching me. Like I’m teleported to hell, because it burns, everything burns and an agonized scream builds up but doesn’t quite escape. It happens so fast, so sudden, and white fades to black.

 

 

 

 

  
~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
Sudden jolt. Gasp. Rush of cold air scratches my throat. Coughing hard. Arms flailing uncontrollably as if I’m… I’m drowning. But I’m not. Kicking the blanket that covers me off frantically, like it’s the reason I’m suffocating for a breath, I push myself up with my elbows and keep gasping for air.  
  
The sight of a blurred strange room greets me, but that’s the least of my problems at the moment. Lightheaded, I try to calm myself down… try to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. That’s it. Chest rising and falling rhythmically with every breath I take.  
  
_What’s going on?_  Still trying to keep my breaths deep and regular, I place a shaking hand on my rising and falling chest. That’s when I feel it. The constant drumming. My bleeding… bleeding…  
  
_Heart!_  
  
I gasp and cough, forgetting to breathe, and drop to the floor. Shallow and irregular breaths, a long gasp, about to faint, but then I close my eyes and concentrate on breathing. I’m fine. I’m fine. It’s all fine and dandy.  
  
_I’m not fine! Where the hell am I? What the hell did that daft bint do to me?_  
  
Finally, managing to stand on my feet, legs wobbling like jelly, I steady myself with one hand on the book on the nightstand. Squinting down at the book titled  _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone,_  with a bookmark sticking out of the middle of the book, my head frantically twirls right and left…  _What is this sodding place?_  
  
Using the wall for support, I move toward a chest of drawers with a couple of framed pictures placed on top. The faces are a bit blurry, so I rub my eyes and take a closer look. There’s the slayer and her lackeys sitting on the grass with a boy I don’t recognize. The same boy is standing next the slayer’s watcher in the other picture, both wearing formal clothing and dopey smiles.  
  
My gaze travels to the shelf on top filled with books and around the room, noting the bed I just woke up on. Feeling more confident to stand without help, I start moving around the room, passing the wardrobe, a long mirror hanging on the wall, a study desk… wait!  
  
I take a few steps back toward the mirror. The same boy from the pictures is staring back at me. Unruly brown hair, wide eyes, gray striped jammies – who the hell is that Nancy boy?  
  
My hands fly to my face, slapping my cheeks, the poofter is doing the same.  _No._  I turn my head from right to left and vice versa. He does the same.  _No, no, no, no, no, no…_  
  
I slam myself against the mirror, my face plastered against the smooth surface. “That can’t be…”  
  
I stop talking abruptly, clearing my throat, I attempt to speak again, “That can’t be...” Sounds like me, but off somehow. Less… less deep. Like, like – one more glance at the mirror – a voice that belongs to a bloody teenager.  
  
I startle when the door opens with a gentle click. A man peers his head inside and smiles when he sees me. “Oh, good, you’re awake. Breakfast is ready. Don’t take long.” He closes the door as gently as he opened it.  
  
I stare at the door, not quite understanding what just happened. I rub my eyes again, trying to clear the fog. I couldn’t take a good look at the bloke, but his voice sounded familiar.  
  
I dash out of the room and walk down the hall, searching for that man. Something in my chest tightens as unlikely suspicions start to become possible. Could he really be…  
  
The faint aroma of cooked eggs wafting from the kitchen does a number on my mouth and stomach. The smell of food never did anything for me before, but this time my mouth is starting to water and I can hear the gurgling coming from my stomach.  
  
There he is, standing behind the kitchen bar preparing breakfast as he promised. He looks up when I arrive, and I try to make him out through the haze.  
  
“William, I thought I asked you to get ready.”  
  
I’m not sure what shocked me more; that he called me by my name or that I finally recognized who he is. That’s Buffy’s watcher. Last I remember seeing him was last year when Angel had him tied to a chair and torturing the living hell out of him.  
  
But… why is he here? Why am  _I_  here? Why is he making me breakfast? It’s probably Dru… she’s finally driven me mad.  
  
“William,” his face stern and impatient, “Get dressed now.”  
  
“I…” I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling the attack of a sharp headache from squinting at his face for so long.  
  
“Are you all right?” he sounds concerned, and then I feel his hand on my shoulder.  
  
I jerk away from his touch and look at the smog that is his face. Now I’m rubbing my eyes with both hands in frustration. “What’s wrong with me?”  
  
“You better wear your glasses,” he says sympathetically. “That’s probably a headache.”  
  
Glasses? William? What the… I… I wear glasses. I have to breathe. My hair isn’t bleached. Panic rising inside me in waves. “Oh, bollocks!”  
  
“William!” he exclaims in surprise and disapproval.  
  
“Last I remember I was in the old factory. Then that  _demon_  appeared out of nowhere and… and…” That’s it. The wish. The little witch wished this. I’m cursed. The vengeance demon probably sent me to some alternative reality.  
  
“Watch your language, young man,” the watcher says in displeasure.  
  
“Oh, piss off!”  
  
His eyebrows fly to his hairline. “That’s not a way to talk to your father.”  
  
Feeling my eyes bolting out of their sockets, I stare up at him in complete shock. “Fa… fa…  _what?_ ”  
  
And now I forget how to breathe and my vision fades to black again.


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

  
****

  
  
I’m breathing again. Regular, even breaths. Air flowing in and out of my nose in sync with the rise and fall of my chest. Then there’s the beating heart that I can’t hear, but know it’s there pumping fresh blood through my  _living_  body. My ears feel like they’ve gone deaf – I hear nothing but a faint sound of paper being flipped – but those distinctive sounds of the heartbeats of others’, their breaths, and their rich blood flowing in their veins…   
  
Sounds I’ve grown used to hearing, sounds that have become a normal part of my unlife, are no longer with me.  
  
I twitch my hand, surprised and dissatisfied by how fragile and breakable it feels. _Human_ , the thought twirls in my head like a nasty headache. The vengeance demon turned me into a human, and not just any human, a stinking, feeble – I move my puny hand again for confirmation – shabby juvenile!   
  
“Giles, he’s awake!” a loud, obnoxious yell breaks my thoughts. Whoever yelled this is sitting right next to me.   
  
I reluctantly open my eyes, greeted with the same detested fog. My strong sense of sight, one I didn’t appreciate enough, has deserted me as well. A blurry face is looking down at me – not the watcher, but worse, judging by the voice…  
  
“Hey, there, buddy, how you feeling?”  
  
Rubbing my eyes in exasperation seems to have given him a clue. He hands me a pair of glasses and I – in absolute abhorrence – wear them. My vision has magically improved. The first thing I lay my eyes on is the grinning face of a twit and the book he has in his hands.   
  
He’s the little wanker I had the pleasure of knocking out cold in the school hours before my recent unfortunate predicament. “You’re Buffy’s friend,” I observe, displeased.   
  
“That’s one way to put it,” he replies with droopy eyebrows flying up in astonishment. “I also go by Xander.”  
  
“Right.” I glance around the room. It’s the same one I woke up in earlier. The framed pictures catch my gaze, particularly the one with me and the watcher. “What happened?”  
  
“Your dad says you fainted.”  
  
“My dad,” I repeat, the newly gained heartbeats in my chest raging in revulsion at the mere thought.  
  
“Yep, you’ve been out for ten minutes since I came over.” He waves the book in his hand at my face when he notices me glaring at the picture of  _my father_  instead of paying attention to him. “By the way, this Harry Potter book isn’t half bad. Mind if I borrow it once you finish it?”  
  
“Huh?”   
  
He’s got an amused look on his face that dissolved into a pathetic frown. “Do you feel better now? ‘Cause I really need to talk to you.” He places the book on the nightstand and rests his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Friday night when you were away with your dad, Cordelia and Oz caught me and Willow kissing in the chemistry lab.”  
  
_Friday night?_  It was when I captured them both and dragged them to the factory, right before that daft cow ruined everything.   
  
Xander holds up his hands in defense. “Now before you attack me with your ‘I told you so’s, Willow and I have decided to call it quits.” He starts playing with the last button on his shirt, shaking his head in dismay. “But then I found her messing with a spell book, so we fought and one thing led to another, then we started kissing again. That’s when Cordelia and Oz made their entrance.”   
  
Why is he telling me this? Where did he get the notion that I care about his pathetic social life? I’m about to tell him exactly that when the watcher barges in with a cup of hot chocolate.   
  
Xander jumps off the chair as if caught in some vile act. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees it was the watcher and wipes his hands on the gray T-shirt underneath his unbuttoned shirt.   
  
The irresistible smell rising from the cup in the watcher’s hand distracts me from Xander’s baffling behavior.   
  
“There,” the man whispers and helps me to a sitting position, taking Xander’s seat. He hands me the cup with a disturbing tender smile. The smell drifts all around me causing my empty stomach to sound the alarm. I bend closer, feeling the steam tickling my nose, and take a sip. Rich creamy heaven slides down my throat, lifting up my mood the way the fresh blood of a young virgin does.   
  
Blood… my stomach lurches, my body shudders, and I choke on my sweet, hot chocolate.  
  
The watcher pats my back gently. “Are you all right?”  
  
“Not in the slightest.” I wipe the trail of hot chocolate on my lips and chin with the sleeve of my ugly gray striped PJs. The unexpected violent reaction to blood takes me by surprise. I’m revolted by the mere thought of its taste. And now, its foul smell attacks me and I almost hurl.   
  
“William,” the watcher regards me with concern, his lips twitch in apparent guilt. If I didn’t know the vengeance demon was the reason behind this catastrophe, I’d have believed  _he_  was.   
  
Xander looks between us in confusion. “What did you guys do at that retreat? Whatever it was it must have had a bad effect on him.”  
  
“We didn’t go together,” the watcher answers with a frown. “I was there alone.”   
  
“Well, look at that.” Xander turns his accusing eyes toward me. “Somebody has been lying to me about his plans this weekend.”  
  
“William, you told me you’d rather spend this weekend with your friends. Didn’t you go bowling Friday night?”  
  
“Face it, Big G, he lied to both of us.” Xander places both hands on his hips and shoots me a look of disbelief. “So, what was so important you had to lay low for two days? I haven’t seen you since Friday at school.”   
  
_Two days? I’ve been out for two bloody days?_  My thoughts change tracks to cursing the sodding vengeance demon.   
  
“When I arrived last night you were already in bed,” the watcher’s expression looks more alarmed than angry. “If you weren’t with Xander and the others, then where were you?”   
  
I look between the two and decide to be frank.  
  
“I was in the old factory.” - nodding at Xander - “Snatched the twit and his witch friend. I wanted her to do a spell for me to get Drusilla back.”  
  
Xander’s face boils with offense. “The  _twit_?”  
  
I smirk at him. “Best part was when I smashed a microscope on your head.”  
  
“Hey!”  
  
The watcher takes off his glasses and rubs his forehead. “William, I have no patience for pointless tales. Where were you?”  
  
“Listen, old bugger, I’m not your son. So, I don’t have to answer to you!”  
  
“And who might you be, pray tell?” Sarcasm doesn’t suit him. Especially with his glasses back on.   
  
“I’m Spike, William the Bloody, part of the Whirlwind who’ve caused suffering, destruction and mayhem all over Europe.”  
  
Both dolts blink at me like I’ve just announced that I’ve been abducted by aliens.   
  
Xander scratches his temple, glancing at the computer on my study. “Is that a new chapter of your Harry Potter fanfic? Wizard Meets Vampire?”  
  
“What are you yappin’ about? I’m a bloody vampire! You should be cowering in fear at the sight of me.” I catch my adolescent reflection on the mirror. “Bollocks!”  
  
“William Giles, this stops now,” the watcher orders firmly, a vein in his forehead threatens to burst.   
  
Xander starts walking toward the window. “Wherever he was, it must have screwed with his brains. He probably needs some fresh air.” Before I could protest, he snaps one of the curtains open.   
  
Sunshine streams into the room bouncing off the chest of drawers and crawling over the bedsheets until it lands on me. With a high-pitched yelp, I throw myself off the bed and slink under it. “No! No! What the hell did you do?” I scream on top of my lungs, panicking as my skin burns from where the sunlight touched it.   
  
“Uh, buddy, what are you doing under there?”   
  
“I’m a bloody vampire, you blooming berk!”  
  
“No, you’re not.”  
  
Another insult about to fly out of my mouth when I realize…my skin is fine. I do feel a tiny tingle of flush from where the sun touched my cheek, but it doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t burn. I peer from my hiding place at the confused idiots, feeling the sunlight on my cheek again.   
  
With faltering uncertainty, I stretch out a hand and feel the sun’s warmth on my knuckles. Watch its rays color my quivering hand… gentle light, gentle warmth. Feels okay, unthreatening. I bring my hand back and examine it, looking for a hint of damage. There are no traces of burns, but a more disturbing fact distracts me from that.  
  
“My hand…” I mumble to myself, “It’s less… pale.”   
  
Crawling out, I stand before the bright, bright sunlight, feeling the heat and glow that envelope me pulling me closer to the window. There it is, big ball of fire, up there in the sky. Squinting when the bright light pinches my eyes, I can’t seem to look anywhere else, overwhelmed by the sensation, by the gentle warmth kissing my  _tanned_  skin.   
  
“I’m not a vampire anymore.” It finally sinks in. The change is for real. The curse isn’t playing tricks on my mind. I’m really and truly nothing but a human adolescent.  
  
“So, demon?” Xander’s declaration snaps me out of my thoughts.  
  
“Most probably,” the watcher’s voice carries a load of worry and apprehension.   
  
I turn around to face them. “What? What most probably?”  
  
The watcher rises to his feet and clasps my shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “Get dressed. We’re going to school.”  
  
I yank his hand off my shoulder, noting the pained guilt in his expression. “Think I wanna be seen in public with a face like a bulldog licking piss off a nettle.”   
  
With eyes as wide as his ridiculously big round glasses frames, he turns to the door, muttering, “Research is certainly obligatory.”   
  
“Research?” I ask Xander.  
  
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, Will, the thing with the book-cracking and solution-searching, which takes hundreds of boring hours, not to mention the inevitable napping in between. The thing we do like every day when crisis attacks.”   
  
They won’t find any solution in books. To reverse a vengeance demon’s curse, they need a vengeance demon to break it off. Which reminds me of something Xander said to me earlier in confidence. He  _cheated_  on his girlfriend, which means there’s a bitter scorned female waiting for a wish to be granted. I need to find that girl before Miss Mottled Face get to her. Two nights has passed already and Xander is standing in front of me in one piece, so there’s a good chance the girl didn’t get a visit from the vengeance demon yet. Must get there first, but I don’t even know who the sad chit is or what she looks like.   
  
I can get it out of Xander somehow. After all, he came to my home early in the morning on a school day to tell me about it. Judging by all the “buddys” he throws my way and the fact that he was  _here_ , sitting by my side, waiting for me to wake up…  
  
Doesn’t take a genius to guess that we’re friends of sorts.  _Best_  friends obviously. Only a ninny like William can land a friend dead from the neck up. Well, at least it’s to my advantage this time.   
  
“Wait, Xander…” I catch him before he gets out of room. “Did you say your bird caught you cheating on her?”  
  
“My bird?”  
  
“Your girl,” I clarify with clenched teeth.   
  
“Well, yeah, I wanted to talk to you about that. I’ve left her like seventy voice messages but she never answered back.”  
  
I purse my lips pensively. “She must be really upset.”  
  
“I know. I don’t know what to do.” He drops his bum on the chair again, hiding his face in his hands.   
  
Trying to act all friend like, I venture a comforting hand on his shoulder, but end up petting him with my fingers as if he were a dirty stray dog. “How about I talk to her?”  
  
He looks up at me. “I don’t know, man. She really doesn’t like you.”  
  
“I know how to persuade the ladies,” I say with a sly smirk.   
  
He doesn’t look impressed. “Says the guy who never had a girlfriend.”  
  
I can’t blame him. Just looking at myself in the mirror makes me want to vomit. “You want my help or not?”  
  
“Okay, okay, cool.” His bushy eyebrows furrow all of a sudden. “Hey, you sound more like a sane person. What about the whole vampire nonsense?”  
  
The only way out of this mess is to get to the boy’s girlfriend and that won’t happen if I was treated like a total nutter.   
  
With a toothy grin, I point two index fingers at him. “Psych!”   
  
He blinks. “What?”  
  
“I’m not a vampire. Was just messing with your heads.”  
  
He stares at me searchingly. “That was the longest prank I’ve ever seen. Not that I’m an expert. Is it a British thing?”  
  
I shrug.   
  
He grins. “Major props for the first rate acting. You totally had me.”  
  
Running a hand over my unruly fluff of hair, I throw him a charming smile.   
  
“You know Giles will kill you for that, right?”  
  
Speaking of the watcher, he dashes into the room clad in tweed and looking like he’s about to burst. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go!”  
  
Xander pats him on the arm. “He’s okay, Giles. He was just playing us.”  
  
He whips his head at me. “What?”  
  
Cute little shrug and a nerdy smile. “Sorry, dad.”  
  
“Is that supposed to be funny?” His glasses glisten intimidatingly. “We’re already too late for school.”  
  
“Relax, Giles, we’ve just missed the first two periods.” Xander gets his share of threatening watcher glare. “Which by your standards is an equivalent to an apocalypse.”  
  
‘Dad’ waves a furious finger my way. “You’re grounded for two weeks.”  
  
“Giles, it’s just a prank,” Xander defends.   
  
“And that means no more free rides to school for two weeks!” He waves his finger of wrath at Xander. “We’ll talk about this after school. Now get dressed!” he addresses me before slamming the door shut.  
  
“Sorry, bud. At least we can see each other in school.” Xander flashes an apologetic smile. “I’ll just wait with Mr. Wilson until you get ready.”   
  
When the door closes behind him, I take a look at myself in the mirror. My reflection is clearer now that I’m wearing glasses. It’s been more than a hundred years since I’ve been in my teens – I don’t remember being this lanky and no amount of gel can save the fluffy nest of brown hair on my head. At least my face isn’t infested with acne. Perhaps I can pull a good 90s heartthrob look.  
  
Checking inside my closet, horror strikes as I look at the travesty that is my wardrobe. Nerdy William hasn’t heard of silk and leather apparently.   
  
“The watcher shouldn’t expect me to get ready until fifth period.” 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

  
  
  
  
The watcher is driving a bloody Citroen. No wonder poor William has nothing decent to wear. This rubbish sounds like it’s being murdered. The ride to school consists of Xander making stupid jokes and Giles sassing him back. They’re sitting in the front while I chose to sit in the back, right in the middle. Still uncomfortable with direct sunlight.   
  
The school is at a visible distance, looking more intimidating in daylight. As Giles parks his dump of a car in his parking spot, Xander peers back at me with an unsure glance. “You know, there’s no shame in backing down.”  
  
“Why would I back down?” I ask dryly.  
  
His gaze focuses on my clothes. “You are one brave sucker.”  
  
I sling my school rucksack over one shoulder and smirk before getting out of the car.   
  
All the eyes are on the reformed chap walking down the school halls alongside two of Sunnydale’s first rate dorks. Clad in a baggy-arse suit, long sleeves rolled up, and a black t-shirt tucked into what seems to be William’s last year’s jeans – the only pair of jeans I was able to find in that closet of fashion disgrace. Hair slicked back with hand cream, which isn’t as effective as hair gel but a bloke has got to work with what he has. The glasses and dressing shoes are the downside to this fashion revolution.   
  
At least the teenybopper bystanders seem to be eating it up. Girls are fluttering eyelashes and boys are scoffing with envy. All is right with the world.   
  
“Aura is checking you out,” Xander whispers into my ear, nodding at a cute brunette in a cheerleader uniform. With a tug on my rucksack and a suave salute, I watch with satisfaction as she blushes and giggles.   
  
Giles pushes the swing doors open and we march inside to the school’s library. Sunbeams shine down through the skylight on red painted octagonal lines on the floor where Buffy and her redheaded friend sit at the wooden table in the center. Blood instinctively starts boiling inside at the sight of the slayer, but such emotions must be clogged until I find a way to go back to who I was and where I belong.   
  
Having interrupted an important conversation, both girls close their mouths shut and look up as we enter. Buffy’s eyebrows shoot up in amusement when she notices my new look. “Okay, having a speechless moment right now.”  
  
“Looking good, Will.” The witch attempts a supportive smile unsuccessfully. The corners of her lips droop in apparent sorrow. Guilty over hurting boyfriend dearest, which reminds me, I’ve got a rejected girl to find. Time to ask questions.   
  
I make my way toward the table, avoiding the spots where the sunlight touches the floor - old habits die hard. Slinging my pack off my shoulder, I stretch out in a chair and prop my feet on the table with an air of careless tedium. Everybody gapes at my un-William like behavior, so I drop my feet to the floor and try for a friendly, shy smile.   
  
I won’t be able to find anyone if I don’t convince this lot that I’m soppy William. “Uh, so, had a jolly time bowling on Friday?”  
  
“Oh.” The witch’s lips droop even further.   
  
Xander throws me a pointed look.  
  
“Right.” I give an apologetic shrug. “Sorry…” -  _What’s her bloody name?_  - “… Red.”  
  
They still gape at me. I cough and sink further in my chair, noticing a book cage on the other side. Why would a school library need a book cage?   
  
“So, what happened to you guys?” Buffy asks Giles, desperate to break the awkward silence that has fallen. “William missing English class? Can’t think of a legitimate reason.”  
  
“Just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, Slayer.” -  _Sodding hell!_  - “Buffy.”  
  
She gives me a humoring nod before springing to her feet, grasping Giles’ arm and taking him aside. “Okay, spill,” she demands in a low voice, though it comes off more like stage-whispering.   
  
“What?”   
  
“Something happened to him at the retreat?”  
  
Giles glances back at me, an unreadable expression on his face, but doesn’t answer Buffy’s question. Instead, he shakes off her hand and walks into a small office.  
  
Things are falling apart already. If I don’t play my cards right, they’ll be on to me. “So, friends, next class is…” I speak up, watching with relief as Buffy stops following Giles and turns to face me.   
  
Red looks ready to cry. Her eyes linger on the floor and she’s casting Xander uncertain looks. Xander lowers his head in shame.  
  
“Chemistry,” Buffy explains away.   
  
I’m  _this_  close to tearing my hair off my scalp. “Oh. Sorry again.”  
  
Xander releases a long-suffering sigh. “Speaking of awkward, have you guys seen Cordelia today?”  
  
“Haven’t seen her,” Buffy replies, slipping back onto her seat. “But Willow says Amy saw her at the mall last night. She’s probably in school but we haven’t crossed paths yet.”  
  
Xander nods and looks at Willow, swallowing as tension thickens between them. “What about you? Any luck reaching Oz?”   
  
She doesn’t look at him, preferring to stare at her lap in dismay. “It didn’t go well.”  
  
Buffy places a comforting hand on her arm and then gives Xander a reassuring smile. “Guys, I told you, it’s gonna take time.”   
  
Heavy silence falls over the room. Fiddling with the button on my tight jeans, I turn my attention to the small office where Giles has disappeared into. Something tells me he’s on to me. That unsettling look can either mean he already knows I’m not his precious offspring or that he’s still upset about the lie. Something else that boggles me; I never begged William the wuss for a liar. Granted I don’t remember a lot of my human days, but the ponce I used to be was nothing but a pathetic Mama’s boy. What was he up to when he lied to everybody? Intriguing mystery, but not so intriguing to hold off my plans to end this curse. I better find Xander’s bint and fast.   
  
“I gotta see Cordy,” Xander voices my thoughts.  
  
I jump to my feet before he makes his exit. “I’m coming with you. Promised to talk to her for you, remember?”   
  
“Guys,” Buffy points at her watch, “it’s time for chemistry class.”  
  
“I don’t care. I need to see Cordy.” Xander strides toward the doors with me on his tail, until…   
  
“And where do you think you’re going, young man?”  
  
Firm tone not to be messed with chills me to the bone. That icy stare on the watcher’s face is even scarier than his voice.   
  
“Look, I better follow him. Make sure he won’t make a fool of himself.”   
  
“You are  _not_  missing another class.”   
  
“But…”  
  
“I said,  _no_.”  
  
There’s no arguing with daddy dearest, not when his jaw looks like it has been cast in iron. For a long moment we don’t move, then eye contact is broken when Buffy wordlessly hands me my rucksack. I snatch it off her hand and begrudgingly walk out of the library with the girls.   
  
Buffy leads the way, ever the leader, and Willow and I follow in silence. I notice Willow fledging with the books she’s carrying to her chest, but dismiss it completely. Frustration streaming through my veins like fire, I try to think of ways to ditch the girls and look for Xander and his chit. But what if she didn’t come to school today – no point in angering the watcher any further than that. One bloody class isn’t gonna hurt.   
  
_bollocks,_  shudders of anger hit me afresh as I walk into the familiar chemistry lab. It all began here. This bloody school. Wish I never stepped foot inside it, always brings nothing but pain in my arse.   
  
“Better save Xander a seat,” Buffy says, taking her place and putting her books on the empty chair next to her. Choosing to be stuck with the git so that Willow won’t have to sit next to him.  
  
I take my seat next to Willow behind Buffy, grimacing at the sink in front of me.   
  
“I understand if you’re upset with me,” Willow says in hushed under tones.  
  
“What?”   
  
Her guilty expressive eyes flicker between me and Buffy. Making sure our conversation doesn’t reach the slayer’s ears, she leans closer and whispers to my ear, “I haven’t asked you about  _your_  Friday night.”  
  
_Thank God you didn’t,_  I almost say, had enough of everybody meddling in my mysterious affairs. But something in her gaze, that look… she  _knows_  what William was up to on Friday.   
  
With a worried glance at Buffy, she carries on, “I saw Larry by his locker. He seemed upset.”   
  
_Who’s Larry?_  
  
“Guess it was heartbreak hour for everybody.” She shifts back to her seat, face congested with gloom. “Is that why you’re dressed up like a 70s rebel?”   
  
“Huh?”  _What’s she yapping about?_  
  
Everyone is settled in their seats when the teacher walks into the lab. I look around as everyone is opening their textbooks on a particular page with my mind trying to work out what Willow said. When the teacher starts writing something on the board, I turn to Willow to demand a coherent explanation.  
  
She shakes her head and rips a tiny piece of paper from her notebook. She writes something on it and hands it to me.   
  
**How did you break it off with Larry on Friday?**  
  
Bloody hell! William is literally a Nancy boy! Shocked eyes stare at Willow’s sympathetic ones. Right. It’s only temporary. Play along until I get hold of the vengeance demon and show her the real William the Bloody.   
  
I write on the back of the paper,  **It was hard,**  then hand it back to Willow.  
  
That’s when Xander shows his face, looking worse to wear, spots an empty place next to Buffy and parks his bum there. Shoulders slumped in apparent dismay, ignoring Buffy’s concerned attempts to get his attention.   
  
Another piece of paper is placed on my side of the table.  **It was nice of you trying to help Xander patch things up with Cordelia, considering.**  
  
With a frown, I write on the back of the paper,  **Considering what?**  
  
‘You know,’ she mouths.   
  
‘What?’ I mouth back.  
  
She indicates at Xander with her head. What about bloody Xander?   
  
The teacher suddenly asks Willow a question. Mind trying to make sense of things; so, my Friday plans were breaking up with a bloke named Larry. Nobody knows about it except Willow – William must still be in the closet judging by the fact that he lied to everyone about his whereabouts. He told Willow, though, who is impressed with my noble act to help Xander reconcile with his girl, considering…  
  
_No!_  A revolting thought jumps into my head. No way. William is a hopeless romantic but he isn’t  _that_  desperate! Gaze boring holes into the back of Xander’s head as a cold feeling trickles down my spine. That demon  _bitch_  has sunk so low! William the Bloody, a century old vampire, slayer of slayers, terrorizer of Europe, is made to have sodding feelings for…   
  
“Xander?” the teacher calls out. “Would you weigh in on the argument about objects becoming solid when going below a certain temperature?”   
  
“Huh?” The boy snaps out of his melancholic thoughts. “It’s… um, becoming solids like… solid water?”   
  
The class explodes in gales of laughter.   
  
I bang my head on the table. 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

 

 

My fingernails dig into Willow’s arm as I drag her out of the chemistry lab. Her indignant protests are glossed over by the sheer feeling of rage and humiliation rising from deep within my newborn soul. The bits of fresh and alarming information she’s offered about lil William are too much to take in. My poor mind is trying to dole it out a bearable fraction at a time but every time it’s like running into a brick wall.   
  
“Will, what’s going on?” Willow whimpers, trying to keep up with my pace just like she did when I had dragged her and that… that…  _joke_  that shall not be named to the factory. Where all my bleeding misery began.   
  
Furious eyes searching around for a private spot – impossible in a sodding high school jam-packed with meddlesome little nothings.   
  
“William,  _stop!_.” She finally manages to yank her arm out of my death grip. Taking shaky breaths, she looks at me with eyes wider than saucers. “What… what’s… wrong?” she says between breaths.   
  
Right  _here?_  In the hallway. Where everyone can hear. Not a bloody chance. “I want… I want to talk,” I give away, beating my anger down to a minimum. “Somewhere private.”  
  
“Sure.” Willow nods with a concerned frown. “Should we go to the library?”  
  
“The watch… my  _dad_  is there. Somewhere with no soul around.”  
  
“I can think of a place,” she says, looking at a buff boy in a football uniform walking into a locker room.   
  


 

~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
The American football field isn’t exactly empty what with a handful of team players using it for practice. But with us sitting on the bleachers too far up, those wankers won’t be able to hear a word we say. December’s wind ruffles the appalling pink and yellow banner behind us, sending a shiver down my spine. A shiver that’s caused by more than just a cold breeze.   
  
“So, I take it, things went extremely bad with Larry?” A gust of wind sends some of Willow’s red locks flying across her face. She tries to pull the stray hair behind her ears without much success.   
  
Grabbing both her shoulders, I shake her so hard her hair is even messier than before. “Tell me everything you know.”  
  
“I wasn’t there, Will,” she says with a tone of voice mostly used when dealing with daft children.   
  
“No, I mean, what did I tell you? You’re the only person I talked to about this. What did I say?”   
  
She tilts her head and furrows her eyebrows. “Are you okay?”  
  
Must be acting and sounding as daft as a brush. New approach. I let go of her and run a hand over my disordered hair. Hand lotion isn’t as effective as hair gel against blowing wind. Looking up at the sun, not even hidden behind clouds, yet so useless against the frosty chill blustering across my face. How do I approach the subject without Willow getting suspicious?   
  
Her hand covers mine in a disturbing show of support. It causes a range of different emotions to simmer beneath my detached demeanor. Her hand is cold – never thought I’d say that about a human’s hand.  _Human_  feelings start to bubble inside threatening to boil over.   
  
Snatching my hand away, I try to focus on the topic at hand. “Tell me why breaking up with Larry was a good idea?” Sounds bitter and regretful, not at all as I’m fishing for information.   
  
Her expression melts into understanding sadness. “You’re having second thoughts?”  
  
“Something like that,” I say with clenched teeth.  _C’mon, spit it out._  
  
“Look, if you’re having second thoughts, maybe you should talk to Larry. I understand what it’s like to… you never know what you have ‘til it’s gone. I get that now.” Her lower lip sticks out in pure remorse. “At least you went about it the right way. You broke up with him before you did… something you’ll regret with Xander.”  
  
And she goes and mentions  _that_  name again. Using all the will power in every fiber in my young human shell to keep myself under control, I try to make sure I understood her correctly, “You and I… we both… we…”  
  
“Have a thing for Xander,” she finishes with a sigh. “But he was never interested.”  
  
Getting real hard to keep that anger under check. “Right.”  
  
“Well, until recently with me. Um… sorry, I never told you about that. I mean, we talk about everything. I’m the only one you told about… you being into guys, and specifically Xander. I just, knowing how you feel about him I couldn’t tell you that we were, you know. I know what it’s like. We both do. And there was also the guilt. Oz is a great guy and I hurt him bad.”  
  
Not caring about her pity party, I steer the discussion to my issues. “So, I left Larry because… because of Xander.” My jaw line is set in stone. “And as far as I can see, Xander isn’t gay.”  
  
“Not as far as I know.”  
  
I look up at the unthreatening sun and wish, with all my being, that it would burn me right where I sit.  
  
  


 

~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
There he is. Sitting at a round table next to the slayer in the cafeteria shoving everything on that blue tray into his mouth. Really, William,  _him_. Have you got no shame? Even the slayer looks too disturbed for words.   
  
She notices us approaching their table and her face breaks out into a thankful grin. “Hey, where were you, guys? You disappeared right after chemistry class.”  
  
I don’t hear a word she says, scowling at the voracious pig licking his plate clean.   
  
“I was just showing William a new spell book.” Willow blushes intensely when Xander glares daggers at her with his mouth stuffed with some disgusting green thing that passes for food.   
  
“C’mon, Will, let’s get something to eat.” She grabs my arm and pulls me away from the wrath of Xander the buffoon. Spell books and magic are a sensitive subject – if Willow wasn’t messing with spells in the chemistry lab they wouldn’t have snogged and got caught. The mere mention of spells would most likely set Xander’s blood ablaze. Something we have in common, I concede begrudgingly.   
  
Willow hands me a tray and we stand in line. She tenses suddenly. “Oh.”  
  
“What?” I ask, shuddering when I find the green rubbish Xander is eating among the food choices.  
  
“Larry.” She indicates at the same buff boy we saw earlier walking toward us with an empty tray of his own.  
  
So,  _that’s_  Larry. A step up from Droopy Boy for sure. Nicely built, football player; William dumping his arse for the Harris loser is beyond me.   
  
Larry stops in front of us, nods at my clothes. “What’s up with the new look?”  
  
“Nothing to concern yourself with, mate.”  
  
He looks taken aback by my retort. The semi-awkward silence that fell over us is interrupted by a girl nudging my back with her tray to move along. As I move forward behind Willow, Larry takes a hold of my arm. “Can… can we talk?”  
  
“Not likely.”  
  
“Please?”  
  
Willow casts me an encouraging smile and gets hold of my tray - obviously on the impression that I regret dumping Larry coupled with her guilt over cheating on her boy.   
  
I hold in a suffering sigh and follow the boy to the hall outside the cafeteria. He tucks his tray under his armpit and shuffles from foot to foot. I let out a bored sigh.  _On with it, bugger!_  
  
Larry opens his mouth to talk but closes it quickly when two girls walk by and enter the cafeteria. Once again, we’re alone in the hall, and he finds his courage. “I’ve been thinking about our break up all weekend. You told me there was someone else.”   
  
I glance at the cafeteria through the door window. My ‘someone else’ is now cleaning the slayer’s leftovers.   
  
“But, I was wondering… maybe, there was another reason?”  
  
I turn my attention to him about to say something when he blurts out, “Because… you’ve been kinda avoiding me since that night in the locker room.”  
  
“Locker room,” I echo hesitantly.   
  
“When we had sex,” he clarifies.   
  
“Of course.”  _How about that? Mama’s boy having a little rumpy pumpy somewhere other than the bedroom. Good for him._    
  
“Look, I know it was my first time with a guy, but I thought since it was your first time ever that you won’t tell the difference.” Unable to meet my eyes, he lowers his embarrassed gaze to the floor. “If my performance was so bad. I’ll try to make it up to you.”  
  
_I’m too old for this. Time to end this once and for all._  
  
“Look. Larry, is it?”  
  
His head snaps up in surprise. “What?”  
  
“I have no interest in shagging any boy or girl in this bloody campus. All right?”   
  
Larry narrows his eyes at me. “You mean you’re into older guys?”  
  
I give him a thin smile and a nod. “Yes, Larry, I am into older guys.”  _You bloody twat._  
  
“I see.” He looks mildly disappointed, not at all heartbroken anymore. “Is it a teacher?”  
  
“Better not stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, mate.” I give one last charming smile before I go back into the cafeteria, leaving him gobsmacked.   
  
Willow waves at me from their table, having saved an empty chair next to her. She also chose my meal for me. Fortunately nothing nasty on it. Regular food inviting me in. That milk carton is making my mouth water the same way blood used to do.   
  
Before I have a chance to take it, Xander snatches it and pours  _my_  milk down his throat.   
  
“What were you and Larry talking about?” Buffy asks, not hiding her disgust at Xander’s behavior.   
  
“He was complimenting me on my new look.” I’m thirsty and I no longer have a milk carton. Sensing my distress, Willow offers me hers. She’s a good one that Willow. I can see why William confided in her.   
  
“Yeah, about that,” Buffy says, eyeing my outfit critically. “I see you’re done with slacks and bow ties. May I interest you in the latest on boy fashion?” There’s eager hunger in her eyes. The slayer does have an eye for style.   
  
“The light is green, pet. Do your magic.”  
  
She claps her hands in excitement. “Cool. So, hitting the mall after school?”   
  
“Thought Giles grounded you for two weeks,” Xander says between bites of Willow’s food.   
  
I shoot the wanker an icy stare. “Look there, the pig talks.”  
  
He makes a face at me. Buffy pats him on the shoulder, and explains, “He’s eating his sorrows away.”  
  
“I saw Cordy kissing another guy,” he spits out, a tiny piece of food lands on my cheek. I don’t react to it though.   
  
“You saw her?” My heart starts pounding. “She’s here?”  
  
“She didn’t waste her time. Already riding the moving on wagon,” Xander sneers, eying my plate of chicken breast like it’s the plague. He wags a finger in my face in determination. “But two can play this game, my friend.”  
  
“Where did you see her?” I press, ignoring his indignant prattle.   
  
“Outside the cafeteria.”   
  
Pushing my chair back so fast it tips over, I’m about to head out of here.   
  
“Where are you going?” Xander’s voice pierces my ears. All three are gaping at me in bewilderment.   
  
“Don’t you want me to talk to her?” I bark at him, too frustrated to care how I come off.  
  
“Please. I’m way over her. Besides, I saw her there before chem class. She’s somewhere else by now.”   
  
He’s right. I almost slap my forehead. I was already outside the cafeteria with Larry. She wasn’t there. Very smooth, Spike.   
  
Xander glares down at his licked off, empty plates. “She’s probably sucking face with John the jock Lee.”   
  
Buffy pats his thigh. “I’m sorry, Xand.”  
  
Xander springs to his feet, nearly knocking the table over. The girls hold the shaking trays in place hastily. “Well, I’m done with feeling bad,” he announces. “I’m Bronzing it tonight. Who’s with me?”  
  
Both girls share unsure looks.   
  
“Great. That settles it,” he decides for them, then manages an apologetic shrug my way. “Sorry, man, we’ll fill you in tomorrow.”  
  
I remember that I’m not allowed outside the house for the next two weeks, which won’t be a problem once I find Cordelia. Turning around, I walk out of the cafeteria and ignore Willow calling my name. Chit must be somewhere close. I should find her and get this nightmare over with permanently.   
  


 

~*~*~*~

  
  
  
Kicking the door to my room open, I drop my rucksack on the bed and collapse on the chair in front of the computer. Eyes on the textbooks neatly arranged by height on the desk’s shelf, I let out a groan and open the drawer underneath the computer. Open, close, open, close, my mind isn’t focusing on anything but my failure to track Cordelia today.  
  
After lunch, I tried to locate her – as much as I could with all the classes standing as obstacles in my way. Too bad I didn’t share any of them with the daft bint. To make matters worse, after a long deadly silent ride home, Giles declared that a talk is in the cards right after he changes out of his tweed.   
  
A desperate glance at the window tells me that sneaking out is off limits. Those iron security bars on the window look like they were installed just to prevent me from escaping. I’ve yet to see a house in Sunnyhell with one of those. The watcher must be too paranoid.   
  
Attention back to the opened drawer, I start fiddling with the small notebook inside. Some scribbles are written in pencil in those pages. Opening a page, I scan what seems to be a love poem – haven’t written one of those in years.   
  
My nose wrinkles when I spot Xander’s name in one of those badly rhymed verses. A poem about  _Xander._  How degrading.   
  
The door clicks open, and I toss the notebook into the drawer and snap it shut.   
  
Giles walks into the room and closes the door gently behind him. He looks less intimidating with the flannel and plaid. Sitting on the bed, he removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose in clear exhaustion. “William, I know things haven’t been right between us since the candy bars accident.”   
  
Pursing my lips, I can’t hide how irritating it is to listen to people talk about past events I have no knowledge of.   
  
Glasses still hanging between his fingers, Giles looks up with a face riddled with guilt. “I really wish we could talk about this so we could get past it.”  
  
“You want to know where I was on Friday,” I cut right to the chase. Last thing I need is to learn about another embarrassing incident in the life of pathetic William.   
  
Startled that I went straight to the topic  _he_  wants to discuss, Giles recovers fast, a shadow of panic hovering over his face. “Are you in trouble? Is someone threatening you?”  
  
“Why would you say that?”   
  
“Is it, uh, drugs?”  
  
“William and drugs.” A laugh rumples in my throat. “What a riot.”  
  
“What is it?” his voice tenses with impatience.   
  
I lean forward and offer a sly smile. This is going to be fun. “Well, let me break it to you gently there,  _Dad_. Your son is a great poofter and has been having it off in the boys’ locker rooms with a nice chap named Larry. Was a bit of a bummer, so he had to end it on Friday.”  
  
Giles stares hard and straight at my face. He doesn’t look convinced. “I’m not laughing, William.”  
  
“Why would you laugh?” I ask in a matter-of-fact tone that seems to get through the watcher.   
  
He coughs and places his glasses back on. “Oh. So, you’re…”  
  
“A bleeding fairy.”  
  
“Really, William,” Giles objects in offence. “There’s no need to sound like a… there’s no, uh, shame in...”  
  
“Right,” I cut him off with a raised eyebrow. “Try sounding more convincing there, daddi-o.”   
  
“First, I don’t appreciate that tone. I’m your father and you are not to speak to me in this manner.” He straightens his back and looks me in the eye. “My reaction was nothing but mere surprise. If it’s judgement you’re looking for, then you’ll be disappointed. All you’ll get from me is support.”   
  
I stare at him, speechless, not exactly because of what he said, but because of the effect it’s having on me. Some strange and unexpected feeling is tightening in my chest. His words for some unexplainable reason  _moved_  me. Don’t think I’ve ever received such understanding in my life. Ridicule and disappointment – now those are familiar and frequent. It was how Dru felt about my truce with the slayer.   
  
Giles’ hand on my shoulder takes me by surprise. “You can always come to me. No matter what happens, you can talk to me. I would never judge and I’m not let down.”   
  
That  _look_  in his eyes, unfamiliar, reflecting feelings I’m not accustomed to. My human heart beats fast, my human soul is twisting; human feelings are rushing inside filling me with different emotions I’m not brave enough to describe.   
  
“One week?”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
He removes his hand from my shoulder and takes off his glasses again. “One week of detention. You still lied to me. But I understand the reasoning behind it.”   
  
Overwhelmed by the odd feelings swarming inside, I give the watcher a nod, hoping it’ll shut his gob. All that Nancy rubbish he’s spouting must have affected this teenage body despite my best efforts. Rushing hormones and what not, can’t be controlled.   
  
“Suppose I shall prepare dinner,” Giles says with a smile. “Since Xander isn’t having dinner with us tonight, perhaps I shall make a proper English cottage pie.”   
  
My stomach rumbles as I realize I haven’t eaten anything in school today. “Sounds lovely.”   
  
“Very well. Change out of your ridiculous ensemble and wear something comfortable. Then come and help me in the kitchen.”  
  
“Right.”   
  
I watch him leave in numb silence. My shoulder still feels warm from his touch, warmth still spreading over my mortal body. Mortal. I’m a human with a soul now. Not just any human, an adolescent with a needy desire for love and approval. Humanity, with all its disadvantages, ought to catch up with me sooner or later. No wonder I felt all warm and tingly at the watcher’s declaration of fatherly care and support. Next thing I’d be thriving for a kiss and hug before bedtime.   
  
Or worse – glancing at the drawer where those horrid poems are – what if I start developing pesky feelings for bleeding Xander? This is William’s body after all. His desires and needs are part of the package.   
  
There’s no stalling from now on. Better get hold of that vengeance demon tomorrow before I end up feeling or doing something I’ll regret. 


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

 

 

 

The slayer’s eyes bulge out of their sockets when I show up at school in my new mismatched ensemble. She grabs my arm and starts dragging me down the hall with a speed I can’t match – Oi, her grip hurts, about to break a bone in my arm, she is. Bloody fragile human shell, so weak against slayer strength. She stops by the boys’ locker room and pushes a shopping bag against my chest.   
  
“Go in,” she demands, shooing me inside, “Hurry up before someone shows up with a camera.”  
  
With a swift glance at the contents of the shopping bag, I whistle, “Ain’t they trendy.”  
  
“And affordable,” she adds. “There’s a receipt inside. Have your people talk to my people.” My smirk matches hers; Rupert won’t take this well.   
  
Just notice Xander and Willow catching up with us as I walk into the lockers room. To my annoyance, the boy follows me inside. Really can’t find it in my willpower to tolerate him. Not with all the absurd love poems hidden in my study’s drawer back at the watcher’s flat.   
  
At least he’s not talking. Just sitting there, watching me get dressed in my new chic garments. Who would have thought William the Bloody would end up being dressed up by the slayer?   
  
She also didn’t forget to buy the hair gel. Spreading it through my hair, I sweep it from the line of my forehead toward the back of my head. One more amused glance at a very shocked Xander. Poor sod’s nugget of a brain is trying to work out the reason behind his nerdy mate’s sudden wardrobe upgrade.  
  
Using a comb to sweep my hair into place, I take a critical look at my reflection; should have asked for hair bleach.   
  
“So,” Xander ventures, “you never told me what you were up to last Friday?”  
  
The kid is catching on. “Gonna be straight with you, mate,” – interesting choice of words – “Your ‘buddy’ here isn’t playing for the same team anymore if you catch my drift.”  
  
Xander’s eyes grow wider than they already are. “You mean…”  
  
“Been seeing your friend Larry for a while. Shagged him right over there,” I point at where he’s sitting. Xander jumps up like his bum has just been lit on fire. “Wasn’t up to my standards and had to cut him loose.”   
  
Through the mirror, Xander’s face changes expressions as he tries to find the suitable words in reaction to such news. “Wow, uh, you’re…um, you….”  
  
Poor William will be disappointed if he knew his crush is a huge homophobe.   
  
I turn around, arms folded over my chest, and give him a disgruntled look over. “Relax. You’re not my type.”   
  
Xander lets out a relieved breath – more heartbreak for William – and his gaze travels over my clothes to the perfection that is my hair. “Is that why… with the change of clothes and the change of attitude?”  
  
“What can I say? I’m gay and proud. Function much better now that I’m out.” A stray lock of hair falls on my forehead. Pursed lips, narrowed eyes and turning my head a bit to the left – no, it’s not working – and I brush that lock back.   
  
“I’m not gonna lie. This is shocking news of epic proportions.” Catching what he said, Xander lifts up his hands defensively. “But I’m hip. I support. I’m gay-friendly.” He walks towards me and pats my shoulder with a happy grin. “And I appreciate being the first one you told about this.”  
  
Shaking his hand off my shoulder, I grab the shopping bag and peer inside for anything else Buffy bought. “Actually several people knew before you.”  
  
“What? Oh, of course, Larry.”  
  
“And Rupert. And Willow.”  
  
“What?” he cries, offended. “Okay, I get Giles because he’s your dad. But  _Willow_ , before  _me_. And when did you start calling your dad by his name?”  
  
I pull out a black wallet chain. Takes me back to the seventies. William could use looking a little like a badass.   
  
“Can’t believe my life,” Xander witters on, unaware that I’m only half listening to him. More engrossed by hooking the chain to my belt. “Bronze was a bust, and now you’re busting my chops, too. I saw Cordelia at the Bronze last night.”  
  
“Of course you did.” Bitch shows up anywhere where I’m not around.  
  
“She was all with the pretending she was over me.”  
  
“Hate to break it to you, mate. But you were the one who cheated on the girl.”  
  
“Not you, too, Will.”  
  
Glancing at the mirror, I watch as the chain drapes around my waist with satisfaction.   
  
“Look, I know I screwed up. Okay? Bad enough that Willow won’t  _touch_  me anymore. And by that I mean friendly, comfort touching. And Buffy’s all sore about me teaming up with Faith to kill Angel.”  
  
Now that piece of info catches my attention. “You were going to kill Angel?”  
  
He looks huffy. “You were there.”   
  
Well, seems that little Xander has some depths after all. I salute him. “Respect, mate.”  
  
He blinks. “Thanks. I guess.” A grin forms on his mouth. “See, this is what I’m talking about, in the midst of heartbreak and side-taking we guys should stick together. The whole bro code thing.”   
  
He gives me an unwelcomed light punch on the shoulder. “Thank God I got you, bud. Don’t know what I’ll do without you.”  
  
Returning his happy grin with a thin smile, I sling the shopping bag over my shoulder and make my way out of the locker room. Where is bloody Cordelia?   
  


 

 

~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
_I’m gonna kill that Willow. Burn her up and dance on her ashes._  
  
Had to endure another awkward conversation with sodding Larry because Miss Sunshine still believes I give a bollocks about him. The pains of letting down that boy gently. Again. Least this time he wants nothing to do with me. Turns out calling him a pansy jock was the last straw. Wish I knew that yesterday.   
  
Dashing out of the school halls and stopping near the fountain, I take a deep breath of the day’s fresh air. The sensation of my lungs filling up still enthralls me. So does the feeling of the sun on my face. Shouldn’t get too attached though. Gotta get back to where I belong.   
  
“Will!”   
  
There she is, the little menace, sitting at a bench with her goody-two-shoes of wankers. Xander waves a hand at me. The talk we had in the locker room still ringing in my ear. Poor sod. Thinks I give a toss about him. With a weary sigh, I realize that the lot I despise the most are the only ones I got right now. Starting to make my way toward them, I bump into someone accidently.   
  
“Ouch. Watch it, dweeb,” yells the tall beauty in a flashy blue dress. Someone got her knickers in a twist. I barely touched her. She does look recognizable, though. Apparently, she seems to recognize me as well.  
  
“William?” she asks, utterly shocked by my hair and trousers.   
  
“Oh, hey, it’s Garbage girl,” says a blonde girl followed by two attractive lackeys. “Loved the look last night, Cor. Dumpster chic for the dumped.”  
  
_Cor? Cordelia?!_  Heart starts beating fast.  _That’s her. Finally._  
  
The scornful bints cut between Cordelia and her friend, laughing in ridicule. Her brunette friend takes off a pendant she’s wearing around her neck. “Here. I think you need this more than I do.”  
  
Cordelia lifts up her hair as the girl helps her wear the pendant. “Yeah, I could use some luck.”  
  
What am I doing? I finally found her. Should be summoning a vengeance demon about now. “So, uh, Cordelia, innit?”   
  
Her face couldn’t have been any more offended. “Great. Now  _losers_  are taking shots at me. Bad enough you pulled the rest of my stiches. Finishing Buffy’s job, are you?”  
  
I don’t get it. Must have showed in my face ‘cause now she’s rolling her eyes in classic adolescent fashion.   
  
“And what’s up with the new do? Ferris Bueller meets Grease?”   
  
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. Can’t people stop commenting on my new style choices? “Look, I’m on your side.”  
  
“Right.” She doesn’t sound impressed. “Xander’s best buddy is on my side.”  
  
“I am. I know what it’s like when someone you care about cheats on you.” Just then I feel the sting of seeing Drusilla with the chaos demon, still raw and fresh. Along with it comes unrecognizable feelings of empathy rushing inside – my new humanity taking me over. I actually sympathize with the girl.   
  
She doesn’t seem to see it though. Instead, she lets out a derisive laugh. “When did you even have a girlfriend?”  
  
“You want Xander to suffer, don’t you?” I look her in the eyes, getting straight to the point. My hurt over Dru taking the wheel. ”He hurt you. He should pay, right?”  
  
“I second that,” her friend chimes in, uninvited, though much welcomed when I realize she’s on my side.   
  
“We should summon a vengeance demon. She’ll give Xander what he deserves.” Straight to the point. No delays, no playing games. Just get me back to my reality.   
  
“You know about vengeance demons?” Cordelia’s friend sounds surprised and interested, but I pay her no mind, looking right into Cordelia’s unsure gaze.   
  
“Look,” she says with hesitation. “I know you and Willow are into the whole witchcraft business, but summoning a  _demon_?”  
  
“Just a little wish. Something to teach him a lesson. He made you a laughing stock when you used to be on top of things. He should get a taste of his own medicine.”  
  
Cordelia glances at the blonde girl who had just insulted her, standing by the fountain with her flock. She looks back at me, a bit sold on the idea. “So, how does this work exactly? I make a little wish and Xander gets it?”  
  
“Only when we summon a vengeance demon.”  
  
She plays with the pendant her friend gave her, still considering. One last push.  
  
“Yesterday a girl approached Xander asking if he was available. Apparently cheating on you made him look…”- what do kids say nowadays? - “… cool.”  
  
She rises to the bait. “Girls used to be revolted by him until I started dating him.” She shakes her head in disgust and dismay. “You know what, count me in. God, I wish that Xander Harris never again knows the touch of a woman.”  
  
“Done,” the meddlesome friend says, earning a horrified gasp from Cordelia.  
  
I turn around. Her friend isn’t there.   
  
“Oh my God!” Cordelia exclaims in horror. “Her face? Did you see it?”  
  
_What?_  Rage fills me as I realize who Cordelia’s friend is. I give myself a well-deserved smack on the head. “Of course! She was a vengeance demon, you daft git!”   
  
“Who? Anya?”  
  
“We need to bring her back.” I shake Cordelia’s shoulders in desperation, my gaze falls on her pendant. “This. She gave it to you.”  
  
“Yeah, she calls it her good luck charm.”  
  
“It’s a vengeance demon pendant! Hand it over.”  
  
“No way.” She holds it in her fist protectively.   
  
“You got your wish. Now it’s my turn.”  
  
“Right.” Her features hold a detested condescending smirk. “You wanna get back at your imaginary girlfriend who cheated on you.”  
  
“I did you a favor!”  
  
“What favor? Look at Xander. Nothing has happened to him.” Her nose rolls up as if she just caught a nasty stench. “Is he wearing yellow sneakers with that outfit?”  
  
“See, it’s already working.” I’m this close to ripping that thing off her neck. “Now be a good girl and hand it over.”  
  
Her answer to that is a smug smile and a raised eyebrow.   
  
“Oi, told you I’m on your side.”  
  
“Do you hear that? That’s the sound of no-one caring.” With a light laugh, she turns around and walks away.   
  
Shocked, I stare at her retreating back and shake my head in exasperation. So much for sympathizing with that bitch. Though I have to admit, kudos for playing me like that. She’ll make a fine vampire.   
  
Now I gotta work on making  _me_  a vampire. I’ll find a way to get that pendant, but right now I should find the proper book to summon a vengeance demon. Better get started on gathering the right ingredients. The little witch, she can help me out.   
  
Striding toward their bench, I catch Rupert walking past the slayer and the others pointing at his watch. I stop for a second to make sure he’s out of sight – no need for him to know about my plans. Obviously he won’t take it well if he knew I’d be messing around with magic.   
  
Coast is clear. I make my way toward Willow.   
  
“Need your help,” I state at once.   
  
She looks up with a smile that disappears when Xander lets out a pained whimper.   
  
“What?” she asks, her and Buffy looking at him in confusion.   
  
He looks at his knee that has just touched Buffy’s shoulder then lets out a smile. “Nothing. Must be some electrical spark.”  
  
“Really? I didn’t feel anything,” Buffy says.   
  
“It’s nothing.” He pats her on the shoulder then jerks away in pain. “Ouch!” He looks at his hand, his eyes widening in incredulous confusion. “What the hell is going on?”  
  
Xander holds Buffy’s hand with his own, alarmed when smoke starts rising between their clasped hands. With a pained cry, he lets go of Buffy’s hand and looks at his. It’s badly burnt.   
  
“Oh God, Xander, that looks like a second degree burn,” Willow exclaims, horrified.   
  
Cordelia’s wish was granted, I see. And the silly bint isn’t here to witness it. As the disturbed three rush to the library to solve the new mystery, I realize Willow won’t be up to helping me with my problem either. Quite the selfish lot these high school bastards.   


 

 

~*~*~*~


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

 

  
  
Buffy and Willow rush off with an injured Xander inside the school building, trying their best not to touch him as the latter cradles his burnt hand and blows on it to reduce the pain. Incredibly miffed, I drop my arse on the bench next to the neglected rucksacks and textbooks and curse my bad luck.   
  
Summoning a vengeance demon would require countless of hours – could be days – of searching for the right book in Rupert’s big collection of demonic volumes. Once found, there’s the other problem of needing to visit the magic shop after dear old pops sentenced me to a week worth of exile. There’s not a chance I can escape those window bars in my bedroom. Can’t also sneak out the front door when my jailer has literally made the living room his quarters for a nice cuppa.   
  
And then there is bleeding Cordelia and the pendant she nicked.   
  
Loud ridiculing cackles come soaring from the fountain. The blonde bird who had insulted Cordelia earlier and her flock are having a laugh at the expense of a freckled lanky boy with a laptop.   
  
A devilish smile curls up the corners of my lips. There’s my ticket to get that pendant out of Cordelia’s sodding clutch.   
  
Making sure my gelled hair is in place, I tug on my collar and saunter my way toward the little blonde. She shoots another sharp comment at the lanky sod, sending her lackeys into a fit of giggles. Hands tucked into my giant pockets, I face her, standing between her and her friends.  
  
Her laughter dies in her throat and a repulsed expression takes over her face.   
  
Leaning in slightly, I fix her up with my most charming smile. “Hello there, darling, how would you…”  
  
“No,” she interrupts pointedly and then starts strutting away with her lackeys trailing behind her, her scornful laughter ringing in my ear.  
  
“Oi, just wanted to tell you about Cordelia’s last fashion crime. Thought you might like to take a piss at her.”  
  
She spins around gracefully and shakes her head. “Don’t need your help, four-eyed creep.”   
  
She shoots. She scores. I take off my sodding glasses and almost throw them into the fountain, until I realize I can’t see the fountain clearly. Reluctantly putting them back on, I watch the bitches flouncing out of my sight.   
  
So, that was in all probability the most humiliating experience of my entire existence – including being clobbered by the slayer’s mum. Must be the William jinx, good thing I didn’t pour out bloody awful poetry by accident.   
  


 

~*~*~*~

  
  
  
Pushing the doors to the library open, I find Willow sitting alone reading through a huge book on the table. “You’re by yourself?”   
  
“Buffy took Xander to the nurse,” she answers absentmindedly, not taking her eyes off the book she’s reading. “I just came here to fill Giles in.”  
  
A frustrated cuss erupts from the office. There goes Rupert fussing about in the small space, going through the mass of books he’d packed in there. The witch, on the other hand, seems completely engrossed in her book. She barely notices my hand that snaps it shut.   
  
Flinching, she ducks her head in shame when she catches me glancing at the cover. “A spell book?” One eyebrow arches in amusement.   
  
“Huh? Well, I just… I figured, you know, with uh…” Her red locks fall on her face to hide her embarrassment. “I know I should swear off spell books after… but, this is serious. Xander is in…”  
  
“Take it easy, Red, you’re running out of breath there.” Pushing the book aside, I lean against the table and fold my arms across my chest. “I don’t think a spell would fix up Xander.”  
  
Her lips curl up in an offended pout. “I know I’m out of my league but if I concentrated…”  
  
“Have you ever summoned a demon?” Keep cutting to the chase. Best way to deal with this lot.   
  
“What?” She blinks confused yet intrigued eyes up at me. “No, why would I?”  
  
“This is obviously the works of a pissed off demon. We better find…”  
  
“What demon?” Rupert makes his way out of the office with a couple of large volumes in his hands.   
  
Closing my eyes in exasperation – almost had the witch begging and willing to help. Now I don’t see  _Dad_  there having an open mind about the subject, so I go for the quickest safe, “I’m just brainstorming.”  
  
“You seemed sure about this a second ago,” Willow comments, eyebrows furrowing in disappointment.   
  
“Well, it’s got to be a demon,” I reply. “Who else has the power to do this?”  
  
“On the contrary, my friend,” Xander’s obnoxious voice interrupts as he and Buffy walk through the library doors. “This has Cordy written all over it.”   
  
Willow jumps up from her seat, eyes widening at the sight of Xander’s hands. “What happened? Why is Xander’s other hand patched up as well?”  
  
“The nurse touching him made it worse, so we asked Johnathan to do it,” Buffy answers, dropping on the chair next to Willow’s.   
  
“Why Johnathan?” Willow asks.   
  
“He was passing by.”  
  
Rupert rolls his eyes. “She means why would Johnathan be any help to Xander, and as I’m saying this I have already arrived at the answer.” He walks towards Xander and touches his arm. Nothing happens. “Your skin appears to be sensitive to the female gender’s touch alone.”  
  
“It’s Cordelia, I’m telling you.”   
  
Willow frowns. “How do you know?”   
  
“Last year when she dumped me on Valentines, I used magic to get back at her.”  
  
Buffy shifts in her seat, sharing a doubtful glance with Willow. “I don’t see Cordelia doing something similar.”  
  
“Yeah, she’s not as pathetic,” I add, earning a look of disbelief and hurt from Xander.   
  
Rupert rubs on his forehead to ease what appears to be a major headache. “Well, if Xander feels strongly about his Cordelia theory, let him, well, investigate.”  
  
Xander points two appreciative fingers at the watcher for the support. “Way ahead of ya, big guy.” He fumbles out of the library in search of his ex while I shoot Rupert an irritated look. “What about my demon theory?”  
  
“I’m not discounting that possibility. It’s just that we have no leads.”  
  
“Fine. I’ll search in the demons’ section. Give it a whirl. Willow, lead the way.”   
  
She jumps from her chair and fortunately does as told. Don’t fancy them on my arse realizing I don’t know my way around this library, especially with William’s reputation as a bookworm.  
  
We head up the flight of stairs to the stack level. When we’re out of sight, I grab her shoulder to stop her on her tracks, and she looks back at me. “If we find the right book, will you help me?”  
  
Her eyes sparkle. “Sure. I’m up for it. Giles can get the ingredients and you and I can…”  
  
“I was gearing toward you and me doing it ourselves. No adults involved.”   
  
Her face falls. “Oh. I don’t know, Will. After what happened with me and Xander, I don’t see myself being reckless with magic.”  
  
“But you said, you’re up for it.”  
  
“I’m sorry. But if I’m gonna work on getting Oz to forgive me, I should be worthy of his and everyone’s trust.” She touches my arm in a show of apology. “Hope you understand.”  
  
I understand one thing; I’m alone in this fucked up mission.   
  
  
  
  


 

~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
Our search for the book has mounted to nothing. There were still more books to inspect when Pops wanked on the party to remind me that I have a math class to attend. Arguing that Xander’s condition is more important was not a good enough excuse to ditch a class. Willow promised to keep searching – and speaking of her, she did mention Rupert’s collection of demonic books back home earlier. Reckon I’ll have to find a way to get the bloke out of the flat for a better snoop around.   
  
Walking down the school halls to get the math book from my locker, I notice bloody Cordelia standing by her nicely decorated locker. When eye contact is shared, I give her the finger. Bitch is taken aback by that, but doesn’t comment.   
  
She’s two lockers away from mine, taking out a math book – we’re sharing the same class. Hmmm, could use that to get that pendant. As I stand there, trying to remember the combination to open my locker with no apparent success, someone grabs my arm, spins me around and smacks me against the hard steel. Face to face with one outraged Xander whose death grip on my collar tightens by the second.   
  
“And hello to you, too.”   
  
“How  _could you_?” the flat tone in his voice has nothing on the expression of pure murderous rage on his face.   
  
“Look this dashing and handsome? Well…”  
  
A second rough smack against the locker shuts me up. A few students gather around us to witness the fight.   
  
“I know you were behind this,” he spits out, eyes on fire. “Cordelia told me everything.”  
  
A glance at the stupid bint, who seems captivated in our conversation as well. “And you take her word over mine? I should be the one getting all pissy and offended.”  
  
“Cordelia has no way of knowing any vengeful demons. You, on the other hand, are an expert in demonology.”  
  
“I am?”  
  
This time the back of my head gets most of the abuse. “Stop being an ass!” I’ve never seen the boy like this before, harsh and hysterical and really, really brassed off. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”  
  
Tilting my head, I give the lad my most revolted stare. “Right. Because you’re such a prince.”  
  
“You’re  _my_  friend.” Sounding confused and wounded, his grip on my collar lessens, and I seize the moment to push him away.   
  
Narrowing my eyes at him, I remain calm, blasé and let out an aggravating soft sneer, “Here’s the thing, I don’t give bollocks about someone who cheats on his significant other.”  
  
The anguish in his eyes is easy to read, so is the flash of hurt passing over his face. “You think I deserve this, do you?” his voice comes out oddly devastated and almost tearful.   
  
“Frankly, yes.” The underlying steel in my voice contrasts his. “You’re a spineless, selfish nobody and could use some humbling.”  
  
The boy stares at me like his whole world is shattering before his eyes. His eyes blink away unshed tears, and he shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have done that to you,” his voice fails him, and the last couple of words emerge trembling.   
  
“Because I have the decency to break up with someone when it’s not working out.” He winces at the hard tone, his face reflects how broken and betrayed he feels. He gives a shaky nod before he slinks away with his tail between his legs.   
  
The students that surrounded us start cheering and clapping, seeming to add more salt to Xander’s injury. The boy quickens his pace, trying to get away from it all.   
  
Returning a couple of high fives and forcing a smile at the enthusiastic thumbs ups, I watch our audience scatter away with relief. Glad that drama is over. Wish I have asked Xander about the combination to this bloody locker, though. He was the one who opened it yesterday – looks like I lost that privilege now.   
  
“Thank you,” the soft spoken words startle me. Cordelia is suddenly standing right next to me – didn’t have that problem before I was stuck in this useless body. Used to sense a human approaching from a mile away.   
  
Looking at her grateful eyes, something tugs in my chest – most likely my human heart – though I don’t fight the sympathy that sweeps over me. No one seems to take notice to the poor girl’s pain. The very familiar pain that drove me to this hell town to win back Drusilla’s love and devotion.   
  
“He’s a git. Deserves what he gets,” the sincerity in my voice does surprise me a bit.   
  
“You standing up for me against him? Never thought I’d see the day.”  
  
No wonder ladies aren’t lining up to win William’s affection, saddling himself with that little wanker. Once the ponce gets back to this body he’d be thanking me for doing him a favor and getting rid of Xander.   
  
Cordelia reaches inside her purse and hands me the pendant. “Here. Hope whoever hurt you gets it, too.”  
  
I don’t waste a second snatching it from her hands. I give her a little gentlemanly nod which she returns it with a smile, walking away to class. Math book completely forgotten, I grin down at the treasure in my hands. Things are definitely looking up.   
  


 

~*~*~*~


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rupert’s Citroen seems to have a mind of its own. Driving around an old trout only to dodge a mailbox accident and still remain on the main road. That’s as much self-control as your average teenager can muster. Thanking Dru’s stars that I’m still in one piece, I step on the brakes five seconds in advance to get the car to a complete stop before crossing a red light.   
  
Maybe this whole ordeal won’t be as stressful if I didn’t have to drive like I’m being chased by a pissed off cheetah demon. Not that this old dinosaur is capable of going as fast as speed limit. Still, old junk can’t function well on speed, but I have to get back to school before Rupert notices I nicked his car keys. Should have known better than to leave them unattended on the table in his office waiting to be pinched. He won’t see my logic, I’m afraid.   
  
Though the old sod isn’t as much observant as I used to think. He didn’t suspect much when I got him to leave the flat last night – an intense craving for a good Shepard’s Pie did the trick. He was extremely willing to please me and left me alone with his home collection of demonic books. It didn’t take long to find the book I wanted. Had to hide it in my room and read through it after a good old home-cooked meal – Old Rupes is quite a cook. Found what I needed to summon a vengeance demon and even more interesting information I have no use for.   
  
Green light. Car takes its time to start and I’m showered with frustrated honks and angry cursing from the cars behind me. You’d think a small town would have more patient drivers.   
  
There it is. The magic shop. Just have to pull over without damaging this old wreck even further than it already is. Car looks like it’s leaking, but that’s Pops’ problem to fix.  
  
Deep breath. Last time I visited this small shop, I had to sneak in from the back. Won’t be a problem now with a body immune to the sun.   
  
The jingle of the door announces my entrance. The shopkeeper plasters a huge welcoming smile on her face. She won’t be this friendly if she knew how I sucked her brains out when I still had my fangs.   
  
“Hello, anything in particular I can help you find?” she asks so pleasantly that I’m tempted to kill her again.   
  
“Made a list.” ‘Cause that was how Willow got what she wanted last time without any fuss. A crumpled paper is tossed on the counter. She looks through my list with interest.   
  
“We have some of these and we’ll be getting black cat bones first thing tomorrow morning. However, the shipment of Yarrow flowers won’t make it to the shop until next month.”   
  
“So, what you’re saying is… you don’t have all the supplies?” the tiny crack in my voice makes it less intimidating. Either I’m a very late bloomer or having Giles’ genes in my blood means puberty will take an eternity to be over with.   
  
“I’m afraid not.” Her critical eye looks me up and down and doesn’t seem to like what it’s seeing. “I have to ask, why would you be summoning a demon?”  
  
Can’t fool a magic shop owner. Better give it straight. No dancing around the truth. “Got dumped. Want revenge.”   
  
She tilts her head, seeming to disapprove with my answer. “Hmmm I’m sensing hostile energy. Maybe instead of going through all this trouble to…”  
  
“Lady, I didn’t ask for advice. I asked for supplies. Customer always right and all that rubbish.”  
  
Taken aback by my aggressive response, she runs her fingers awkwardly through her short hair. “Right. So, uh, you want to purchase the supplies we already have?”  
  
“Yes, and I’d like to pay for the others beforehand.” Good thing little William prefers saving his allowance instead of spending it on the spot like most normal teens his age. Couldn’t believe the amount of cash I found in his wallet.   
  
I check my watch as she puts the materials in a paper bag. Should head back to school before the others notice I’m not there. Flinging the money at her – “Keep the change.” – I snag the bag and rush out of the shop, hoping the drive back would go smoother and with less racket.   


 

 

~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
My little adventure goes unnoticed by the rescue rangers, all gathered in the center of the library reading though big book volumes. No one spots my smooth slip into the office nor the casual drop of car keys on the table inside. I join the rest of the gang in the silent research party, receiving welcoming smiles from Buffy and Willow and a nod from Rupert.   
  
Xander doesn’t look up from his book, though. Still pissed off over our encounter yesterday.   
  
No one mentions anything about my part in the whole dilemma. Seems that Xander didn’t tell them. Perhaps I should put him out of his misery, being a good old chap and not telling on me. The other interesting bit of information I found in the book back home was how to lift Anya’s curse off the boy. Destroying her power center – the pendant – should get Xander right as rains. It should also reverse all the wishes she’s granted, but won’t fix my problem though as I was cursed by another demon.  
  
But, where is the fun in that? The curse on Xander is the only amusement I got in this bloody reality.   
  
“I still can’t fathom how Cordelia came to know about this type of a demon,” Rupert comments in the midst of the heavy silence.   
  
Xander’s jaw clenches but he says nothing, nor does he lift his eyes from the book in his hands.   
  
There’s a tiny twinge of something inside my chest. I ignore it. You’re an evil bastard, Spike, don’t let William’s sodding humanity get to you.   


 

 

~*~*~*~

  
  
  
A few days pass. Healthy breakfasts in the morning followed by a silent ride to school usually disturbed with Rupert trying to make conversation. His attempts go unsuccessful and he attributes it to some candy incident that happened a while ago. I don’t correct him.   
  
School isn’t any better either. It’s either class or useless research in the library, same redundant Xander issue. On the plus side, Cordelia has been trying to chat me up. Poor lamb hasn’t gotten back on her horse yet with popular kids still making fun of her. Think I should take the girl on her offer, a snog or two with a good looking fellow as myself would boost her confidence.   
  
Tonight is another research night, but it isn't about Xander for a change. A new demon lurking and terrorizing the innocent. Or mostly Buffy, who looks determined to get back at it for hypnotizing her to her death. Girl’s luck streak didn’t disappoint, she was saved last minute by Angel. Haven’t seen the poofter since the curse. Can’t see him being welcomed to the fold after his soulless episode.   
  
Everyone is focused on the new demon crisis, except for a displeased Xander who keeps mumbling something under his breath.   
  
“Sorry, Xand,” Buffy says apologetically. “Urgent stuff happens sometimes.”  
  
“I know.” He tries to be understanding, but fails miserably. “I can handle having my problem on hold for a night.”  
  
Buffy smiles sympathetically and reaches to comfort him, but he jerks away before she manages to touch him. “Are you trying to  _kill_  me?”  
  
Buffy withdraws her hand hastily, her face stricken with embarrassment. “Sorry.”  
  
“Nothing in here,” Rupert declares, snapping his book shut and going up the stairs to the stack level in search of another.   
  
Willow’s gaze drifts from the watcher to glare at the two troublemakers. “C’mon, guys, the sooner we find this demon, the faster Buffy can kill it. If it was able to get to Buffy, guess how easily it can hypnotize a normal person.”  
  
“It didn’t get me, I got away,” Buffy defends weakly.   
  
“With Angel’s help,” Willow stresses. “Slayers aren’t above hypnotizing.”  
  
“It’s how Dru bagged your friend Kendra,” I add my two scents, looking at a picture of a Fyral demon. Wonder what happened to the two who used to work for me. Bet they won’t appreciate my recent alteration to a human boy.   
  
The silence that follows my comment becomes unsettling. I look up to find both girls blinking confused eyes at me.   
  
“Dru?” Buffy asks. “Who’s that?”  
  
I’m starting to master the adolescent eye rolling. “Drusilla? Insane, innate psychic powers, needed to have her strength be restored? That Drusilla.”   
  
Buffy and Willow exchange puzzled looks.  
  
“Drusilla,” I exclaim in exasperation. “She came to this bloody town last year with…” Stopping abruptly when I realize… she arrived with  _Spike_. Who doesn’t exist here. Which means, Drusilla never stepped a foot in Sunnydale.   
  
“I don’t remember…” Willow begins carefully, trying not to offend me, “Maybe you came across her by yourself?”  
  
“Who cares?” Xander smacks the book in his hands on the table. “Can we get this over with and get back to my problem?”  
  
Buffy and Willow hurriedly drop their gazes to the pages in their books while I shoot daggers at the boy. Good thing I reconsidered reversing the curse. Git deserves what he gets. Now if only I know whatever happened to Drusilla in this reality. Angel must know. He’s her sire after all. Last time I saw the old bugger he was in the deserted mansion. Perhaps it’s time Spike drops in for a visit.   


 

 

~*~*~*~


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

  
  
Bell rings. Math class is over. Spike is a free man. Literally. My jail time is served. Rupert has announced the good news this morning. Pushing the classroom’s door open, I dash out along the sea of pouring students toward the school hallway. Doors left and right are decorated with Christmas wreaths. Kids wearing nancy Christmas wool-sewed pullovers. Christmas vacation is two days away. Freedom has never come at a better time.   
  
Passing through all the chattering about Christmas plans, I spot the three stooges standing by the girls’ lockers. I resist the strong childish urge to skip toward them and declare my freedom. Been a human juvenile for over a week now and some new unwanted habits are beginning to show.   
  
Walking with an air of poise, I stumble upon some serious conversation when Willow’s usual concerned voice asks, “Do you think something’s wrong?” She opens her sticker filled locker – though to be fair, every locker in this school is jammed with silly stickers. Even mine to my shame. “Maybe you should tell Giles.”   
  
Placing her book into her equally embarrassing locker, Buffy shrugs off her long coat and stuffs it inside as well. Don’t see why she was wearing it in the first place. Sunnydale is named “Sunny” for a reason, even if we’re in December.   
  
“No. I don’t wanna bug Giles,” she says to Willow. “He’s still kinda twitchy when it comes to the subject of Angel.”   
  
Stopping in my tracks before reaching them at the mention of Angel’s name. My plans to go and see the great brood couldn’t see light with Rupert guarding our front door like his life depended on it. He’s been extra careful at school, too, keeping taps on me wherever I went. Have started to suspect he knows something about my latest adventure to the magic shop.   
  
“Well, it must be that whole Angel-killed-his-girlfriend-and-tortured-him-in-front-of-his-son thing…” – Buffy notices me standing close by and gestures for Xander to shut his gob up. The boy looks over his shoulder and winces in embarrassment.   
  
Interesting. Angel must have done a number on old Rupes. Could being tortured in front of me have anything to do with the mysterious candy incident that’s still bothering Rupert?  
  
“Hi, Will!” Buffy pipes up. “So what does it feel like being a free agent?”   
  
Cool shrug. “It’s all right.” Glancing at the three awkward faces. “So, you were talking about Angel, I see?”  
  
Willow flinches, holding her rucksack to her chest and unconsciously pushing her opened locker’s door shut with her back. “We can talk about something else.”   
  
Another cool shrug. “Don’t mind. So what’s the old bugger’s up to?”  
  
Willow zips her bag close and slings it over her shoulders. “We’re thinking Angel is having the holiday blues.”   
  
The four of us start walking away from the lockers. I notice Xander keeping a distance between us. Still sore over my part in his distress. Well, good riddance. Least I don’t have to put up with his off-putting cheerful prattle.   
  
“I was shopping for Christmas gifts and we pumped into each other,” Buffy says, holding a brown paper bag close to her chest. “He was acting wiggy.”   
  
“So same old?” I ask dryly.   
  
A flash of hurt crosses over her green eyes. Though I don’t get the dirty look Xander received earlier. Reckon having my old man tortured in front of me is a legitimate reason to be resentful of her precious boyfriend.   
  
“So, Will, what are you doing for Christmas vacation?” Willow blurts out, always ready to break an uncomfortable silence.   
  
“Whatever old Rupes wants. You?”  
  
“Being Jewish. Remember, people? Not everybody worships Santa,” she huffs oversensitively.   
  
“No need to get your knickers in a twist.”  
  
She pouts.   
  
Walking to the student lounge, I can see Cordelia sitting on a couch and chatting with a friend. Nice to see her talking with someone. Apparently she didn’t need my snogs of pity to get back on her feet.   
  
Dropping the school bag on the floor next to the couch opposite to Cordelia’s, I slip on one side with Willow climbing to the other side. Xander stands uneasily glancing at us and the empty spot between us. He decides it’ll be less awkward to drag a chair to Willow’s side of the couch and keep his distance.   
  
Buffy takes that paper bag over to the Holiday Food Drive collection box behind our couch. She starts pulling cans of food out it and putting them in the box. Ever the charitable, selfless slayer.   
  
Xander tenses when he sees Cordelia sitting at the opposite couch. He flashes Willow a nervous grin. “Well, I’ll be enjoying my annual Christmas Eve camp-out.”  
  
Not that anybody asked or cares to hear, but Xander’s motor-mouth doesn’t stop there, “See, I take my sleeping bag outside and I go to sleep on the grass.”  
  
Willow smiles politely. “Sounds fun.”  
  
“Yeah, I like to look at the stars, you know? Feel the whole nature vibe.” He notices Cordelia approaching us and drops his gaze to the floor.   
  
Cordelia stands tall next to his chair, eyebrow up and looking smug. “I thought you slept outside to avoid your family’s drunken Christmas fights.”  
  
Xander looks up at her, clearly expecting no less from her. “Yes. And that was a confidence I was hoping you’d share with everyone.”  
  
The humiliate Xander hour has started early today. Temptation gets the better of me. “So, Cordelia, hope your Christmas plans are more interesting than the pathetic lot.” Pointed stare at Xander, who looks away.   
  
Cordelia smiles with her chin up high. Even her friend looks at her with triumph. “Well, I’ll be in Aspen. Skiing. With actual snow.”  
  
Buffy joins us, hands draped on the back of the couch. “I hear that helps.”  
  
“It must be a drag to be stuck here in Sweatydale, but I’m thinking of you.” I try to hide my smirk at the envious glint in the eyes of ‘my friends.’   
  
Cordelia doesn’t have a problem showing hers. “Okay, I’m done.” Twirling around, she struts out of sight with her friend by her side.   
  
She’s something, isn’t she?  
  
Buffy doesn’t seem to think so. “She certainly has reverted to form.”  
  
“It’s not her fault,” Willow defends like the saint she is. “After what happened, we gotta cut her some slack.”  
  
Xander is about to spout some defensive rubbish when I speak up, “Good old Willow with her Christmas spirit.”  
  
He closes his mouth shut. Lips thin with stung pain.   
  
“Hello, still Jewish. Chanukah spirit, I believe that was?” Willow reminds me again. “Anyway, forgiveness is pretty much a theme with me this year, ‘cause of the…” she trails off when a boy comes up to us.  
  
He glances over at Xander, who responds by scraping his chair back and away from Willow. Must be Willow’s scorned boyfriend.   
  
He returns his gaze to her. “Hey.”  
  
Willow smiles up hopefully. “Hey.”  
  
“Can we talk?” he asks quietly.  
  
Willow slips off the couch and starts following him to an empty classroom nearby.   
  
Buffy takes Willow’s place on the couch with an eager smile. “Think they’ll get back together?”  
  
“They should.” Another pointed glance at Xander. “Willow deserves happiness.”   
  
Unable to take it anymore, Xander wordlessly rises up to his feet and starts walking away.  
  
Buffy bites on her lower lip. “We shouldn’t have said anything.”  
  
“Why? Should be happy for her. It’s what any decent person would do.”   
  
“I know, but he isn’t getting back with Cordelia. And he still got that severe case of inflammable. I can see how unfair that must be for him.”   
  
She’s got a point. Though I don’t voice my agreement.   
  
  


 

~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
Ridden with guilt, Buffy helps Xander researching in the library. Books scattered everywhere in the stack level, Buffy and Xander, all cross-legged with a large book on their laps, devouring every detail with penetrating interest. I, imitating the two notwithstanding, am mostly trying to fight drifting off and falling over the book in my lap and hitting my head on the floor.   
  
“Guys!” Willow races up the stairs with excitement. “Oz and I are back together!”  
  
“That’s great, Will!” Buffy throws her book aside and jumps to give her friend a hug. She pulls back all slayer-like serious. “What did he say? Dish it out. Gimme the whole dish.”   
  
Willow’s grin can’t get any bigger. “Well, at first…”  
  
Xander suddenly closes his book, keeping his finger on the page he’s reading, and leaps to his feet before storming out of the place.   
  
Willow’s eyes grow wide and she starts after him, trying to stop him, but catching herself when realizing one butterfly touch from her will scar his flesh. She settles for staring at his retreating back over the balcony in complete sorrow.   
  
Once Xander walks out from the library, Willow turns her sad eyes to Buffy. “Oh, poor Xander, I didn’t mean… he’s obviously upset with me.”   
  
Buffy places a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Willow, you’re allowed to be happy for working things out with Oz.”  
  
“Still, he’s got to deal with being cursed and here I am gloating and shoving my happy life in his face.”  
  
Buffy smiles sympathetically. “All we can do for him now is research.”  
  
“Right. On with the research.” She drops to the floor with Buffy and both of them resume the useless research.   
  
Not me, though. I’m not wasting any more minutes pretending to look for something I’ll never find. Springing to my feet, I make my way down the stairs, wondering where Old Rupes is. We’re supposed to be heading back home now.   
  
Plopping myself on one of the chairs with legs propped on the table. Maybe I can leave without him since I’m not grounded anymore. I’d have hit a few bars if silly old William was smart enough to work out a fake ID. If memory serves me, Rupert does have some good liquor at home. Isn’t worth the risk of being locked up again, though.   
  
The library doors swing open as Xander returns with disappointment clouding his face. He stops at the sight of me, a series of muddled emotions run through his features. He starts making his way towards me, opening the book in his hand.   
  
“Look, I found something here.” He shows me a picture with a sketch of Anya’s pendant. “I, uh, went to ask Cordelia about it, but she already left school.”  
  
Looking up at him, I can see how he’s trying to force a lump down his throat. “Was it… it says here it’s the symbol of Anyanka. I’m assuming that’s the demon’s real name. Was she wearing it when she granted Cordelia’s wish?”   
  
Casual shrug. “I didn’t notice.”  
  
“William, please…” the tremble in his voice is unmistakable. He’s plainly on the verge of breaking down. Could be fun to play with him a little. But it’s too much energy and I do feel a bit hungry.   
  
“Yes,” I lie instead.   
  
“So, um, do you know where I can find it? It can help with putting an end to the curse.”  
  
Boy isn’t so daft after all. But hungry or not, I don’t feel charitable enough to help him out. “Sorry, mate, it disappeared right with the demon.”  
  
He nods as if he expected that answer. “Okay, then, uh, do you know how to summon it back?”  
  
“I didn’t summon Anyanka. Just told Cordelia what she’s capable of.”  
  
He licks his lips, looking desperate and at his wit’s end. “But you know about her type. You must know how to break the curse.”  
  
“Just heard of them. Never really read about them.”  
  
He doesn’t look like he believes me, but he’s obviously too proud to argue. “Guess I’ll just show Giles what I found,” he says with a voice tempered with steel.   
  
As he walks away, I start reflecting on why I keep torturing him. Then I remember those daft poems in my drawer.   
  
  


 

~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
Best quirks about being human is the appreciation of delicious food smells. My stomach rumbles at the aroma emanating from the kitchen. Rupert, still hasn’t changed since coming back from school, is already there fixing me something healthy and tasty for dinner. Must admit it isn’t really bad being the man’s son. Better than being stuck with someone who doesn’t know their way around the kitchen.   
  
“Don’t forget to remind Xander about Christmas Eve,” Rupert says from his place near the stove.   
  
I rest the book I’m reading on my lap and frown in the direction of the kitchen. “Xander?”  
  
“You invited him to spend Christmas Eve with us.”  
  
Inward snort. Of course pathetic William did. Can’t get any more subtle than that. Intruding his loser of a crush on a family traditional night so he’ll get acquainted with the father. How smooth and pitiful. “Oh, he’s got plans.” On with a quick save. No need to tell him that things aren’t hunky-dory between me and the boy.   
  
“With who?” He’s not going to let it go now, is he?  
  
The sudden knocking on the door saves me from an unwanted conversation. Flinging the book aside, I jump to my feet and race toward the door.   
  
Door swings open and Angel’s mopey face greets me.   
  
I feel a sly smile working its way to my lips. “Lookie who drops by.” I lean against the door frame, arms crossed, and stifling a laugh at his kicked puppy expression.   
  
“William, is your father in?” trembling pathetic voice so low, I can’t keep the laughter in anymore.   
  
“Who is it?” Rupert calls from the kitchen.   
  
“Angel,” I answer back.   
  
Sounds of flustered movements arise from inside followed by Rupert rushing to the door with a towel on his shoulder. He pushes me back protectively and stands before the miserable sod. “What brings you here?”   
  
Can’t recall hearing that tone in the watcher’s voice. Dangerous and filled with resentment. His hand reaches back and holds on to my arm, giving me a slight push to keep me hidden behind his back.   
  
“I’m… I’m sorry to bother you.” Angel’s tortured eyes are starting to get on my nerves. Makes me wish for that smug bastard back. Least he wasn’t this pathetic.   
  
Rupert’s hand on my arm starts shaking as a bitter laugh rumbles from his throat. “Sorry. Coming from you that phrase strikes me as rather funny. ‘Sorry to bother me.’”  
  
The sarcastic tone drips with bitterness. The protective hand squeezes my arm. Something inside squeezes as well. Nancy human feelings threatening to take over again. What is it, Spike? Getting all sentimental about being shielded from the scary monster by big strong daddy?   
  
Trying to ignore those pesky feelings by focusing on Angel, who has the decency to look ashamed. “I need your help.” His face droops even further at the ridiculous request.   
  
“And the funny keeps on coming.” Wish I can see Rupert’s face, but it’s impossible from where I’m standing.   
  
Swallowing his pride, Angel carries on, “I understand I have no right to ask for it, but there’s no one else.”  
  
Rupert’s death grip on my arm loosens somewhat. “All right. But you don’t get to be invited.”  
  
Angel nods. “Fair enough.”  
  
“William, go to your room,” Rupert orders as he lets go of my arm.   
  
“You’re joking, right? Now that things are starting to…”  
  
“Your room. Now.” He looks back with furious eyes that look far more intimidating without his glasses on. Miffed, I start heading to my room, feeling too aggravated by a number of things. Somehow Rupert’s command and missing the interesting conversation aren’t as disturbing as Angel not recognizing me as  _Spike_. Starting to wonder if Dru actually exists in this reality.   
  
  
  


 

~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
So, turns out, the brooding ninny is wondering why he’s back. He should be stuck in a demon dimension suffering for eternity – no arguments there. But somehow, he was sent back, and now he’s dreaming about his glorious past and dragging Buffy along with him. She doesn’t seem pleased with that, arguing with Rupert to find a solution to the whole crossing dreams mystery.   
  
Playing with the telephone wire next to Rupert, I listen silently as Buffy tries to convince the watcher that she won’t be going on dates with Angel. So any chance of a soulless lunatic terrorizing Sunnyhell again are out of the question. She just wishes to be out of his dreams.   
  
Rupert doesn’t look pleased with the whole ordeal. Can’t blame him really. However, he puts his glasses on, a sign of a watcher ready to hit the books.   
  
“So, we’ll help him?” Buffy asks hopefully.  
  
Rupert tries for a smile but fails, seeming to realize he’s got no choice. “Yes.”   
  
“William?” She looks up at me expectantly. The shrug I give brings a smile to her face.   
  
“Where do we start?”   
  
The three of us turn our heads to the door where a bashful Xander stands, hands in pockets, face remorseful and hesitant. He starts elaborating upon the surprised looks he receives, “Look, I’m aware I haven’t been the mostest best friend to you when it comes to the whole Angel thing. And, um, I don’t know, maybe I finally got the Chanukah spirit.”   
  
Buffy looks grateful.   
  
Rupert springs on his feet and gets down to business, handing each one of us a book to research.  
  
Heading out of his office, Buffy looks at Xander. “Are you sure this is how you wanna spend your Christmas vacation?”  
  
He gives a half-hearted shrug. “Not that I can spend it in the arms of a lovely woman. Unless I have a death wish.”   
  
“Sorry about putting your problem on hold yet again,” she says sympathetically.   
  
“Hey, Buff, urgent stuff happens all the time, right?” With an unconvincing grin, he attempts to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder, but stops himself midway.   
  
Both of them stand awkwardly for a second, only to be saved by an excited Willow bouncing her way into the library. “Hey, guys, what are we doing?”  
  
“Starting a new research party. Theme’s Angel and whatever bloody purpose he should serve.” Buffy flinches at my dry tone. Perhaps Harris can fake being all selfless and giving, but I’m already brassed off. Another tedious research session that won’t benefit me in any way; if it’s not about Xander, then it’s about Angel, two wankers I don’t give a bollock about.   
  
Throwing myself on a chair at the research table, I open the book and stare at the first page, completely aware of the eyes staring at me.   
  


 

~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Yawning for the tenth time, I leave my place behind the checkout counter and walk into Rupert’s office with my useless book tucked under my armpit. One look at my pissed off face, Rupert sighs, taking off his glasses with one hand and rubbing his forehead with the other. “We haven’t found a thing yet. Everyone must be exhausted.”  
  
“Everyone is asleep,” I correct him with a nod at a sleeping Willow on the chair behind him.  
  
“Very well. Suppose we could use a break. Go up and see if Buffy and Xander are also sleeping.”  
  
Trying to find an empty spot to drop my book on his messy desk, I eventually give up and place it on the floor. After long hours that have dragged to what seems to be centuries– the highlight being Harris running to fetch us pizza and drinks – I’m all in favor of stealing one of Rupert’s finest liquor collections and getting myself legless.   
  
Behind a stack of books, I find Buffy sound asleep on the floor surrounded by a pile of books. Here we are wasting a good day on her pathetic boyfriend and she sleeps it away.   
  
My steamed up metal rant is interrupted by a faint sound of a hiccup. Really soft, most likely to be missed has the library not been so terribly quiet.  _Curiouser and curiouser,_  my mind croons as I step over a sleeping Buffy toward the other side.   
  
Peering over a stack of books, all careful and quiet, I feel my eyebrows going up to my hairline.  
  
There, sitting at the far end of the wall, legs crossed, face hidden in his hands, back hunched, is a crying Xander. His soft sobs hidden in the palms of his hands. His body trembling slightly as he clearly tries to repress the sound in order not to attract attention.   
  
My first instinct is to throw a scornful remark. Get him all embarrassed and defensive. But then I catch that stray tear that manages to slip down his face and stains his trousers.   
  
Just then, I feel it, that small foreign tug at my chest that I kept resisting all week. This time I can’t bring myself to brush it off. The soulless vampire persona I’m clinging desperately to is slipping away.   
  
That recognizable sight of lonely suffering opens the gate and my human emotions start flooding all over my conscious. The boy has been strong enough to keep his guard up when nothing in his life is going well. Willow gets to have another chance at love, but he doesn’t. Willow gets out of this mess scott free, but he has to pay the price. And to top that, everyone has got someone to spend Christmas with, except he doesn’t. And I never made it much easier on him, making sure to throw a jab at his expense at every turn. Never showing sympathy to his condition and I’m supposed to be his  _friend._  
  
It’s worth to note that I am starting to. Not only do I feel sympathy, but also admiration. The abandoned opened book next to him reminds me that he gave up researching his curse to help Buffy save the vampire he despises.   
  
That must take a lot of willpower.   
  
I watch him pour his heart out, as silently as possible, but don’t step in. Can’t bring myself to give him the comfort he needs, not that I think it’ll be welcomed. Not after everything that went between us for the past week.   


 

  
~*~*~*~


	9. Chapter 9

 

**Part 9**

  
  


 

Made by **Tickyboxes**

  
  
  
  
  
Stretched out on the couch with a glass of tea spiked with Scotch, I sluggishly eye Rupert on a small ladder decorating the top of our average sized Christmas tree. He’d asked for my help, but I venomously declined. As if I need any more humiliations to add to the list. Bad enough my only way to a shot of alcohol is through tea. Angelus will have a chuckle.  
  
Speaking of the old ninny, apparently he’s being a good little puppy for The First Evil. Always knew he has the willpower of a limp noodle. Only takes a winging big girl’s blouse to fall for an incorporeal ghost. Can’t even land a punch for bollocks’ sake.  
  
“Do hand me the angel, please.”  
  
Distracted by the ongoing mental rant - “What?”  
  
“For the top of the tree.”  
  
Grimacing down at the little doll with wings on the table. “Really? The bloody angel?”  
  
“Did you… did you want it differently this year?” There is so much guilt and uncertainty in that question. He even removes his glasses to reveal the anguish in his eyes, and maybe to be blinded to whatever he assumes there is in mine. Which in reality is nothing but pure apathy, but it should be something else obviously. I’ve yet to muster an interest in whatever melodrama that has happened between William and his daddy.  
  
“I don’t mind really…” Rupert starts hastily, “you’re the one who keeps saying we should never change Christmas traditions. Your mother always had a fondness for the angel.”  
  
My mother. Clearly I’ve got a mother in this universe. She’s never been brought up before now; either she’s a corpse or ditched old Rupes for a bloke with a better income.  
  
“William.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“So what’s it going to be?”  
  
I hand him the angel and finish my Scotch in one swallow. I wipe my damped lips with a scowl, Scotch doesn’t have the same punch when mixed with tea.  
  
“So, I hear Xander is having a campout in his back yard.” His attempt at being casual falls flat with that pointed glance he thought I didn’t see.  
  
“You heard right.”  
  
“I’ve noticed you two have drifted apart lately.” And there it is. Counseling hour begins. The joy.  
  
“Nothing to report there, Rupes. He’s a bollock and I have no use for gits like him.”  
  
He wears a displeased grimace on his face when I called him by name, then releases a sigh. “I understand Xander can be a bit infuriating.”  
  
A scoff. “A bit?”  
  
“You two have been close friends since we’ve arrived to Sunnydale. You barely had a friend when we were in London.”  
  
I lift my bored gaze off the empty glass to his face. “Meaning?”  
  
“Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.” A small smile with the promise of more cliché phrases if I don’t do as he says.  
  
I fling my head back with a groan and then drag myself up and head towards the coat rack.  
  
“William, are you taking the cup with you?”  
  
The cup that smelt of Scotch? Glancing at Rupert, still occupied with the tree, I make my way toward the kitchen as casually and soundlessly as possible.  
  
“Where are you going?”  
  
Bleeding hell, nothing gets past him! “Going to wash the cup.”  
  
“I can do that.”  
  
“No, it will take a second.”  
  
“All right.”  
  
The cup gets washed, with excessive scrubbing and rinsing until it started smelling lemony fresh. Leaving it to dry, I fetch my coat and salute dear old pops.  
  
“Do be careful.” I wave him off and start out of the door. “Oh, and William?”  
  
I turn around to face him.  
  
“You don’t have to sneak some alcohol into your tea. You’re already eighteen.”  
  
Gob hangs open.  
  
He smirks. “Keep in mind we’re in California, though. You won’t get served outside the house.” His expression dissolves into a serious stare. “I’d rather you drink in front of me and not behind my back. Do I make myself clear?”  
  
“Uh, yes.”  
  
He smiles. “Now go get Xander.”  
  


 

~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
I don’t know where the ponce’s house is. A fact I should have realized before I walked a few blocks away from Rupert’s. Maybe I should go back. Tell the old bugger our offer for a cozy Christmas Eve dinner has been refused. Not like he and the boy are close, if anything he’s always appeared exasperated by the twit.  
  
A light breeze passes by causing a shiver to run down my body. Never felt this cold in, well, can’t remember ever feeling this cold or any type of cold for that matter. Another valid excuse for bailing on the lad and rushing back to huddle near the fireplace.  
  
But then, Xander’s lonely sniffles in the library earlier today comes attacking with a vengeance.  
  
Fine. Will pick up the ponce. Get him fed and pampered, then send him on his merry way.  
  
More rounds around the block and no house looks remotely like it belongs to a sad poof with bad clothes.  
  
“William?” a familiar voice asks behind me.  
  
I turn around and grimace. “Oh, it’s you.”  
  
“What are doing out in the streets this late at night?” ex-boyfriend demands, ignoring my displeased reaction.  
  
I step up, arms folded. “Could ask you the same thing.”  
  
Larry stares at me, mouth set in a grim line and eyes hard with dislike. “Guess it’s none of your business anymore.”  
  
My mean smile is delivered with a head tilt. “Then I suppose we should part ways.”  
  
He stifles a sigh and starts walking the other way.  
  
As he’s getting further away, my nostrils flare as I realize that he probably knows where Xander lives. And I sent him away. Oh, balls.  
  
Time to test my acting chops.  
  
“Wait, Larry,” I say with a voice I hope is loaded with guilt and not at all phony, “things don’t have to be like this between us.”  
  
That stops him. There’s a good chap.  
  
“I’m sorry for being a first class git. I was going to Xander’s house and seemed to have…”  
  
Now he’s looking at me like I’m speaking another language. “You just passed his house.”  
  
“I did?”  
  
Larry indicates with his head at a one story house with two pine trees just a few steps away.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
Larry bites on his lips and throws a hard steel look coupled with an exasperated headshake. “I don’t like someone pulling my chain. You know that more than anyone.”  
  
Now that I know where Xander lives, must find a way to get rid of Jock boy here. “Told you, first rate git here. Should know better than to talk to a bad seed. Lesson learned for next time. Off I go.” I stride toward Xander’s house, yapping away, almost in the clear…  
  
“I don’t understand what I did wrong,” whipping boy won’t let it go, “I just… I don’t get what I did to deserve this.”  
  
I need a smoke. If Rupert didn’t have the nose of a bulldog, I’d be blowing smoke rings right about now. With a barely restrained sigh, I toss the boy a side glance. “It’s all me, mate. Don’t wanna abuse the cliché, but this time it is truly me and not you.”  
  
He’s got that heartbroken puppy face on and all I think about is the delicious smell of Rupert’s roast turkey.  
  
“I have changed,” I yap on, “in the literal sense of the word. I’m not that Nancy boy anymore.”  
  
He doesn’t say anything, just stands there, puppy eyes and all, so I take my exit and quicken my pace to Xander’s backyard. Here’s hope I’ll never see Larry’s face again.  
  
Now there he is. The reason I’m out in the cold. The only lackbrain sleeping outside at night. An easy snack for any passing vampire. I’d wager suicide attempt, but that means giving him more credit than he deserves.  
  
A lantern, a comic book, a half-empty plate; some wild party was in the works here. Can’t see how he remembered taking off his trainers before he passed out from all the excitement.  
  
I’m suddenly distracted by the sound of a woman snapping couple of sharp ones and receiving a loud smack for her trouble. Then comes the sound of glass crashing and a pained howl of a man. Behind the window of Xander’s house, two figures engage in a ruthless battle of wits. Now _that’s_ a party.  
  
I shift my gaze to Sleeping Beauty here, looking complete out of it. I use the sole of my shoe to tap his shoulder. Nothing. With a sigh, I crouch before him and an aggressive shake does the trick.  
  
Waking with a startle, he blinks up at me in confusion. “What the…?”  
  
“Get up. Off we go.”  
  
He bolts up. “Buffy found Angel? Is she in trouble?”  
  
I scoff. “Who cares? We’re going to Rupert’s for the Christmas Eve feast.”  
  
A long calculating stare. “Your dad made you come here.” He lies back down. “You don’t wanna spend Christmas with me anymore than I do, so why don’t you just leave?” He starts pulling the top flap of his sleeping bag over his head.  
  
I yank the thing open and look him in the eyes. “Look, Rupert cooked a hell of a feast. And I’m feeling a bit peckish. What ya say we move this along?”  
  
Xander’s eyes grow wide as he stares at something behind me. I let out a sigh. “Don’t tell me. It’s a vampire.”  
  
Of course. A vampire is looming over us. He’s looking a bit peckish himself.  
  
The vampire attacks. Xander pulls me back and we end up crawling away like a pair of sprayed roaches. The vampire takes a hold of my leg and drags me back until he’s sitting on me. I try driving a punch to his jaw, but he grabs my hand easily and twists my arm. Pain shoots down my arm and I feel my eyes tearing up from the pain, lamenting the strength I used to take for granted.  
  
The vampire’s weight is suddenly lifted off of me. I blink my moist eyes up at Xander, who wastes no time as he pulls me up by my throbbing arm no less. Oi!  
  
“Let’s go in!” Xander rushes me into the house. “I don’t have a stake on me.”  
  
“No stake? What are you, retarded?” I bark at him, letting myself be dragged into the house.  
  
Xander slams the door shut behind him and starts breathing heavily.  
  
My arm is killing me and the liquor in the other room is inviting me, if only I can get around Xander’s shouting parents.  
  
“Would be bad taste if I didn’t say hi to your folks.”  
  
Xander rolls his eyes. “C’mon.” He yanks me by my injured arm, again, and races to a room in the back.  
  
“Oi! Watch the arm!” A longing stare at the liquor. “I was raised better than that.”  
  
As he hauls me into a dark room, I’m hit with the horrible stink of old socks and pizza leftovers.  
  
Xander kicks the door shut and leans against it, taking long shuddering breaths. He notices me staring at him.  
  
“What?”  
  
I lift an eyebrow and slowly move my gaze to his hand still clutching mine.  
  
He lets go like his hand caught on fire and brushes back his hair bashfully. “Sorry.”  
  
This time my stare holds no ridicule. For the boy who complained about Willow ‘not touching him anymore,’ he does strike me as a clingy fellow who likes his share of coddles every now and then. To have his hand literally catching fire every time he has a physical contact with a female –that’s all his friends when counting the fallout with William – this whole ordeal must have been exceedingly difficult for him.  
  
Getting too uncomfortable by my piercing stare, Xander turns on the light and then trips over a black beanbag on the floor. The boy’s room can use a garage sale. Haven’s seen so much rubbish since Dru broke into an antique doll store in Milan.  
  
Xander is struggling to get to the window while I drop on his bed, only to recoil up to my feet when I realize I just sat on his dirty undies.  
  
“He’s still in there,” Xander grumbles, peering outside the window. “Damn it! He’s taking my comics.”  
  
I tilt my head and narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t understand why you didn’t sleep in your room in the first place.”  
  
The extremely loud sound of glass breaking followed by some bellowing drifts from outside the room.  
  
“Now I do.” I shake my head, frowning up at the basketball hoop hanging on the wall. Xander doesn’t strike me as a sports fan.  
  
“Gets much louder on holidays. Maybe because bars close,” Xander says absentmindedly, still staring out of the window.  
  
“Doesn’t explain sleeping outside a safe home without a stake.”  
  
He looks at me then, but it’s not the look of deer caught in headlights. “Don’t read too much into it.”  
  
“Shouldn’t I?”  
  
“I forgot, okay?” His arms shoot up defensively. I purse my lips, not buying it. “Yeah, well, I’m as stupid as I look.”  
  
“Can’t argue with that,” I mumble, leaning against his desk and knocking a giant alarm clock to the floor.  
  
“Why don’t you just go home, Will?” He opens the window and tosses an old pizza box outside.  
  
“Aren’t you coming with me?” I ask, watching him flinging more bags and boxes of junk food out of the window.  
  
“I might be stupid, but I know when I’m not wanted.”  
  
“Fine. Suit yourself. I’ll tell Rupert you’re going to…” I pause at the sight of snow falling out of the window.  
  
Xander follows my line of sight and stares out in astonishment. The world seems to have fallen silent, even Xander’s loud parents have stopped backbiting. Some snowflakes float into Xander’s bedroom through the opened window so he closes it and watches at it begins to frost.  
  
I make my way over the pile of dirty and clean clothes and stand beside the boy. His sleeping bag is now covered with snow along with his unfinished dinner plate and trainers. I blink down at the boy’s bare feet then up at his face where a thoughtful expression clouds his features.  
  
“So, what do you say?” I try again, and this time I actually smile. One corner of my lips is lifted. Barely. But still, a smile.  
  
“About what?”  
  
“Don’t be daft. Rupert is a great cook.”  
  
“I know. Why do you think I swing by your house every morning?”  
  
“Well?”  
  
He sighs. “Fine.”  
  
This time we jump over his bed to get to the door, avoiding the dirty underwear on the way. Xander is about to step out of his house.  
  
“Uh, Xander?” He looks at me. “Shoes? Coat? A scarf maybe?”  
  
“Right.” He snaps his fingers and rushes back into the house.  
  
I shake my head. “You _are_ as stupid as you look.”  
  


 

~*~*~*~*~


	10. Chapter 10

  
  
  
  
  
“What did that demon look like again?” Xander asks, picking another book from the pile on the research table. The sound of flipping pages echoes in the dead silent library.   
  
Rupert squirms beside me. “Uh… indescribably dangerous and has a persistent tendency to, uh, growl.”   
  
I arch an eyebrow at that.   
  
“As opposed to every other demon we know,” Xander throws in, looking suspicious. “Is there really a demon?”  
  
“Of course,” Rupert says indignantly. “Why else would I be calling you on such short notice in the middle of the night?”  
  
Smooth, Rupes. Even someone with dead brain cells like Xander can see that something is going on. Can’t believe he hasn’t figured it out yet. But, of course, dead brain cells don’t operate that way.  
  
It’s the boy’s birthday.   
  
The day his mum did humanity in with her failed abortion. His birth certificate must have been an apology from the condom factory. Can’t believe I’m missing the Dawson’s Creek rerun for this. And, of course, Rupert doesn’t own a VCR.   
  
Stuck in this library for God knows how long – should have been done with the cake and song bit already. The girls are appallingly late. How long does it take to make a sodding birthday cake? Unless Willow needled Buffy to stop for birthday decorations. She was a pain that one, breathing down our necks for more fuss and feathers at that smegging mall.  
  
No one cares enough about this birthday to remember it _before_ the actual day. It was already night when Willow’s frantic phone call disturbed what was supposed to be a nice quiet evening. Next thing I knew, Rupert drove us to the only mall in Sunnydale. Willow and Buffy were off their trolley, demanding we fetch this and that. I was in charge of birthday balloons which I mucked up royally showing up with a bag of unblown balloons. “There’s no time to blow fifty balloons, William!” Buffy had bellowed. “The party is in two hours and there are still so many things to do!”   
  
Not my fault the boy’s happity birdie was forgotten. How did I know it was a few days after Christmas? Although, William would have known. Bet he’s planned the whole event in that notebook of rotten poetry.   
  
After Willow gave me a lecture on the importance of tonight – Harris turning eighteen, and while he won’t be legally permitted to drink, at least he can vote now – everyone went their separate ways, promising to meet at the library at eleven.   
  
Rupert manages to take a swift glance at his watch while Xander isn’t looking. It’s eleven thirty.   
  
Xander dumps the book in his hands on the table. “I give up. I can barely crack the books when I know what I’m looking for.” He leans forwards and points a finger at Rupert. “You know who you need? A research weasel. Why didn’t you call _Willow_ in the first place?”  
  
Speaking of which, the lights go off. Finally.   
  
“What’s going on?” Xander jumps, knocking his chair to the floor. “Last time that happened Angel turned evil.”  
  
Library doors swing open before the two of us bother to calm him down. Buffy and Willow slip in carrying the birthday cake, birthday hats on, and singing with mediocre voices. Oz trails after them with extra hats and some shopping bags.   
  
The girls place the cake on the table, the light from the several colorful candles reveal the huge grin on Xander’s delighted face. Even Rupert hops on his legs and joins in with the song.  
  
Xander takes his time blowing off all eighteen candles and sends the room into darkness, Oz immediately snaps the lights on and joins the cheerful crowd in clapping.   
  
Buffy catches herself before giving the boy a fateful birthday hug. “Sorry almost forgot about the no-touching”   
  
He looks pathetically let down by that. Can’t remember how long it’s been since he got to touch either one of his friends.   
  
Buffy awkwardly directs her gaze from her shoes to the ceiling, then at me looking like she’s about to chew my head off. What? Oh, the bloody balloons.   
  
I drag my feet to the office and release the expensive helium filled balloons I was ear pinched into buying.   
  
The girls clap and jump, watching the birthday balloons fly up to the skylight.   
  
Xander grins at their over-enthusiasm, and then frowns down at the rushed job of a chocolate cake.   
  
“We added extra frosting,” Willow hastily defends their half an hour work. “We know how much you love your sweet sugary goo.”   
  
“Wow,” he breathes out, looking surprised but extremely overjoyed. “You guys outdid yourselves. I didn’t see this coming at all. I thought we were getting too old for birthday parties, so I didn’t expect anything. But I just remembered the hassle fest of shopping for Giles’ birthday last year. I guess my birthday hassle was done before Christmas?”   
  
Xander’s yapping is met with tight smiles plastered on every face except mine. And Oz’s.  
  
“What I’m trying to say is thank you,” he concludes, dopey grin intact. “Of all the surprise birthday parties, this one tops the charts.”   
  
“Birthday boy gets to cut the cake,” Willow pipes up and hands Xander the knife, trying too hard not to show her guilty pout.   
  
Birthday ceremony moves on smoothly from that point. Cake is eaten, balloons are attached to the ceiling, hats are forced on every head, and hopefully once Harris finishes his third piece of the chocolate cake, I might still have a chance to catch the second half of Dawson Creek.   
  
Except things never go my way, now do they?   
  
“Present time!” Buffy announces, springing up a neatly wrapped box with a red bow on the table.   
  
“What?” My wide eyes travel from one present to the other.  
  
“Oh, this one is from Oz.” Willow pushes a festive looking small box forward. “Also, see the warping paper on my present, it’s got reindeers. You love reindeers. You told me when we were six that they’re your favorite animals. See? I remember. And did I mention Oz getting you a present?”  
  
Xander thanks Oz with an uncomfortable nod. The other boy returns it with his zen version of the nod.   
  
Was that why we parted ways at the mall? To fish for birthday presents? Have I missed the memo? When did we decide on presents?  
  
Rupert chooses this moment to place a shopping bag on the table.   
  
I pull him by the arm and hiss into his ear, “You bought him a present, too?”  
  
He frowns at me. “You didn’t?”  
  
“He gets to vote. Shouldn’t that be enough?”  
  
Rupert looks perfectly appalled.  
  
With a fleeting look at Xander tearing into Buffy’s red snowflakes gift wrap, I realize I’m the only one without a present. Don’t want to look like a pillock in front of everybody, now do I?   
  
“I’m writing my name in your card.” I grab his shopping bag and glance inside.   
  
He snatches it out of my grip. “Get your own present.”   
  
“You got him a tie?” Now it’s _my_ turn to look appalled.   
  
“It should be a sensible present for a young man taking his first steps into adulthood.”   
  
“From Walmart?”   
  
“Shhh.” He glances at an unaware Xander now opening Willow’s present. “Not many stores are open between Christmas and New Year’s.”   
  
“Please let me write my name on the card,” I whisper back pleadingly.   
  
“I did not get a card.”  
  
Is that the smell of burning trousers? There’s a white card attached to the shopping bag. No, wait, that’s the receipt. You’re losing it, Spike. “Just say it’s from us both.”   
  
“No.” Who knew Rupert can be so heartless? He hands the boy his present. “Happy birthday, Xander.”   
  
“Thanks, Giles.” Xander peers inside with a grin. “A black tie.”   
  
“A more grounded choice to your colorful collection of shirts.”  
  
“Very thoughtful,” Xander says, deadpan, he stares inside the bag again and his face loses that wide grin of his.   
  
No one notices as all eyes are on me, waiting for _my_ present.   
  
“I… uh…”  
  
“You didn’t get Xander a present?” Willow’s tone is as gobsmacked as her face.   
  
Darting my gaze from Buffy’s murderous glare, to Willow’s disappointed pout, to Oz’s expressionless face – “I did,” I spit out in false annoyance. “I just forgot it home.”   
  
Xander gives a small nod, but clearly doesn’t believe me, and places Giles’ bag quietly on the floor.   
  
Out of the thin air, something big crashes into the skylight and lands on the birthday table, squashing the rest of the birthday cake. I’m too aghast by the sight of my wasted money disappearing into the dark sky to notice the large, vicious looking demon is growling at us.   
  
“So, there _is_ a demon after all,” Xander quips.   
  
The demon launches at the birthday boy, but Buffy pushes Xander out of harm’s way and is about to give the demon the kick of its life when a scream of agony catches her off guard.   
  
Xander clenches his teeth, his hands clutching his scorched shirt, showing a big burn on his chest where Buffy had pushed him.   
  
Distracted by what she’s involuntarily done to Xander, Buffy misses the demon’s punch that sends her flying across the library.   
  
Rupert pops out from the cage with weapons and drops them on the table. I grab an axe and start swinging it at the demon – until I realize with my face meeting the floor that it’s too bleeding heavy. The demon, however, expresses its gratitude by crashing its enormous weight on my bony body and showing me its fine selections of sharp teeth. Its roaring sends my gelled hair flying in every direction.   
  
Rupert rushes to the rescue only to be swatted like a bug, and he ends up flying into his office. Oz and Willow don’t fare better either, crashing against the book cage. Buffy launches for a second attack and this time, I’m almost able to squeeze myself out from under the demon.   
  
But then, the demon punches Buffy and she flies in the direction of the office just as Rupert is about to march out and knocks him inside again.   
  
The demon suddenly lets out a distressed snarl and looks back at Xander who has just stuck a sword in its back. Still clutching his ragged shirt, Xander stares the demon down.   
  
The demon growls.  
  
Xander stares.   
  
“What are you doing, you ponce! Get out of the way!” I yell at the boy.  
  
He doesn’t move, though. Standing there. Staring. Waiting. The demon doesn’t waste a second slicing Xander’s arm with its claw.   
  
Buffy jumps on the demon from the back and resumes the punching match.   
  
Willow rushes to Xander’s side but stops herself before her wavering fingers touch him and casts a pleading look at her boyfriend. Oz silently obeys and crouches next to Xander.  
  
Rupert comes to my side in an instant. “Are you hurt?”   
  
I barely hear him, focusing on that detached stare in Xander’s eyes. He flinches when Oz touches him, perhaps expecting another zing of electricity, but relaxes cautiously to Oz’ gentle hold on his injured arm. Willow places a First Aid kit she just fetched from the office next to Oz.   
  
“A sword!” Buffy demands, hanging onto the demon that is trying desperately to shrug her off.   
  
Rupert snaps to action immediately and throws a fencing sword at her. She catches it and swiftly positions herself until she’s face to face with the demon then thrusts the sword into its chest.   
  
The demons lets out a louder growl then collapses on the floor with Buffy under it. She pushes the dead load off of her and rises to her feet breathlessly.  
  
“Good thinking, Buffy,” Rupert praises. “Always aim at the heart.”  
  
She ignores him, walking straight to where Xander is being treated by Oz. A gloomy look clouds her face as she stares at Xander’s badly burnt chest.   
  
Xander notices her standing near him and cracks a smile up at her. “I’m starting to think ‘birthdays on the Hellmouth’ not the best idea.”   
  
His attempt to lighten up the mood fails as Buffy still looks miserable. “I’m really sorry, Xander.”  
  
He shakes his head. “Don’t sweat it, Buff.”  
  
“The thought of not being able to protect you without hurting you…” her voice cracks at the end, so she snaps her mouth shut.   
  
Xander’s happy-go-lucky smile flails a bit. “It’s… we’ll figure it out.”  
  
Right then, someone grabs my arm and drags me away from the scene. It’s Willow. She actually shoves me into the office and gives me her best impression of a brassed off kindergarten teacher.   
  
“What?” My exasperation increases by the second.   
  
“He’s hurt because of you.”   
  
“Think you’ve got it all mixed up there, pet. It’s the other blonde who put a hole in his shirt.”  
  
“I meant his arm,” she snaps. First time I see her raise her voice like that. “He saved your life and you didn’t even get him a present. You were supposed to buy one at the mall.”  
  
I cross my arms in imitation of her and glare back. “No one said anything about a present.”  
  
“It’s a birthday party, Will. Of course there will be presents!”  
  
“Well, you don’t need to get your knickers in a twist, I already have a present for him.”  
  
She scoffs. “Yeah, right.”   
  
“I do. It’s back home.” She scoffs again. Old sweet Willow never scoffed. Where did she go? “I do!” In anticipation of a third scoff, I give an aggravated grunt. “Know what, I don’t care what you think.”  
  
I head back to the library where Xander is on his feet now. Buffy is hovering over him like a mother hen with the touch of an electric catfish.   
  
“Okay, guys, think I’ll call it a night,” Xander announces. Can’t blame him. His party was a bit of a damp squib. “All this excitement is taking a toll on the Xan-man.”   
  
“I’ll walk you home,” a guilty Buffy offers.   
  
“I’ll do it.” I volunteer with a raised hand. “Need to swing by the house to get his present.”  
  
Buffy looks between me and Xander. “I don’t know. I should go.”  
  
“And give him another skin burn? I think I’m the safest choice.” I demonstrate by hooking my arm around Xander’s shoulders and giving him a harmless squeeze.   
  
“William!” Rupert cries in disbelief, casting a sympathetic look at Buffy’s gutted reaction to my words.   
  
Xander shrugs my arm off. “I don’t need an escort. I can go home by myself. It’s a skill I’ve mastered since I was six.”  
  
“Told you, I’ve got something for you at home. Now fetch your presents and let’s go.” Upon Willow’s glare, I let out a suffering sigh, “Fine. _I’ll_ carry the presents.”   
  
  


~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
We don’t speak a word during the walk home, quite a relief if a bit disturbing given the boy’s record for running off at the mouth. It keeps the vampires away, too. Don’t see myself capable of fighting a vampire off if it jumps at us from one of those questionably rustling bushes. Not with this breakable body, can’t even hold a damn axe.  
  
Something dark jumps at us! With a yelp, I jump back. The shopping bags fall and pour their contents on the pavement.   
  
A bloody black cat.  
  
Xander’s bored stare burns holes in my dignity. “It’s a cat.”  
  
“I can see it’s a cat. I’m not blind.” My glasses slip on my nose.   
  
He gives a shrug and helps me put the presents into the bag. He has the decency to carry two of them this time – Buffy’s and Willow’s, go figure.   
  
Sodding breakable body turning me into a wuss. Even the likes of Xander Harris look better in comparison. I haven’t come face to face with creatures of the night ‘till Christmas Eve at Xander’s backyard. Vampires look bigger and stronger, and dare I say, scarier. Weapons and demons are too heavy. I can’t even kick without falling on my useless bum. There’s a reason regular human beings aren’t qualified to do the Slayer’s job.   
  
With a glance at the unusually silent boy, he doesn’t look remotely afraid. Here I am quickening my pace while juggling his presents because his inviting smell of fresh wounds is bound to attract some big, strong, scary beast. And there he is, calm and collected and got that rugged devil-may-care look going for him.  
  
Oi, where did _that_ come from? Some William leftovers clearly.   
  
This kid is nothing but a clown. A very silent, sullen clown right now, but overall, he’s the ‘cowers in fear, soils his pants, hides under bed’ kind of wimp who happens to have saved my life. Twice. How does this son of a bitch do it?   
  
Oh, thank God, Rupert’s house is in sight. The flood of relief I’m feeling isn’t helping my case. Bollocks, I was a fearsome lord vampire with a name that strikes fear in the hearts of the bravest warriors, to be reduced to this weakling juvenile is beyond degrading. Even the wanker walking beside me doesn’t look like he’s about to break into dance inside the safety of a walled house.   
  
Which I’ll be leaving soon to deliver him back to his dysfunctional family. Followed by me walking back home. Alone. Perhaps we should wait for Rupert so he can drive the boy. Poor lad can’t walk for more blocks with his injuries.   
  
My room looks like a model picture from an Ikea magazine compared to Xander’s dump. The pendant Cordelia handed me is where I left it in the drawer next to William’s notebook. I glance back at Xander. He looks quite uncomfortable in his skin standing at the door, not daring to step into my room.   
  
“There you go.” I walk toward him with the pendant in my hand. “Didn’t wrap it up. Seems like a useless activity.”   
  
Xander recognized the pendant right away. Must have memorized it by heart. “When did you…”  
  
“Had it for a while. Thought it to be a knock up present. Certainly much better than some tie.”   
  
“Hold on.” Xander looks up at me. He doesn’t appear happy at all. “You had it for _a while_ and you just gave it to me!”  
  
Confused and a bit underwhelmed by his unsatisfying reaction – “Uh… you unfamiliar with how this works? Birthday presents should be given on the birth _day_.”   
  
“William…” he groans in frustration. “Forget it.” He steals the pendant off my hand and examines it. “How does it work?”  
  
“Just smash it,” I grumble.   
  
Xander stares at the pendant before throwing it to the floor and smashing it with his untied trainer to pieces. He looks at me with a frown. “I don’t feel any differently.”   
  
“You have to test it, you twit,” my tone comes off grouchier than I intended.  
  
“And what got you pissed all of a sudden?” Xander grumbles back. “I’m the one who should bristle with rage.”   
  
“Have you tried giving an assclown a present before?”   
  
“My God, you _don’t_ get it!” Xander screams, looking about to burst with fire. “You know I was looking for that pendant. You know how hard it was for me. And you just kept it! Could have saved me days of…” he ends the sentence with a frustrated cry. “Fine! You want your stupid thanks. Thank you, Will, for the best present ever!”   
  
I’m taken aback by how much his words sting. I didn’t intend to give him the pendant until after what happened with Buffy earlier. Thought he’d suffered enough. I was doing a good thing. I don’t deserve _this._   
  
He seems to be calming down, brushing some of his bangs back. “I should test it. Maybe give Mom a hug.” He cringes. “She won’t take it well if she’s wasted, which she’ll most definitely be.”   
  
Feeling too wounded for my liking, I move silently to sit on the chair in front of my computer. The silence is growing thicker by the second.  
  
“What happened to us, Will?”   
  
I look at his reflection on my computer screen silently.   
  
“It’s not Cordelia,” he goes on. “You knew about me and Willow before we got caught and you never treated me like the spit on your neck.”   
  
I throw him a frown.  
  
“You know, at class when jocks spit on our necks? It’s why Willow and Buffy volunteered to always sit behind us, which never worked ‘cause those jerks were far spitters.” He notices the blank look on my face and his voice does trail at the end. “You don’t remember?”   
  
“Of course I do.” I turn away from him in panic. “Trying to understand what you’re getting at, is all.”   
  
“What did I do to make you hate me so much?”  
  
My gaze darts at the drawer hiding the love poems inside. William fancying the lad, God knows why, isn’t Xander’s fault. Perhaps I went too far considering we’re supposed to be BFFs and all.   
  
“Will?”  
  
He looks tired and confused, quite fragile and anticipating a blow. I can crush him right here, right now. Surprisingly enough, I don’t feel like it. I don’t want to anymore. “It’s... I’m not the same bloke you knew.”   
  
His eyes narrow. “You mean the gay thing? That doesn’t bother me.”  
  
A sudden surge of anger claims me. I push my chair backwards and get into his face. “It’s not about you, git. I’ve changed!”   
  
His eyebrows shoot up in shock at my reaction. And now I want to kick myself. I almost spilled it out. I almost told him who I really am.  
  
Xander, who’s prone to anger as much as I am, doesn’t take my sudden outburst well. “Damn right you did. You became an asshole!” He grabs the shopping bags, knocking Rupert’s to the floor in a fit of hysteria. “I don’t need your help getting back home. I can do it myself.”   
  
I grab his arm and spin him around. “You’re hurt! The smell of blood reeks off of you and that will attract blood sucking fiends.”   
  
He jerks his arm out of my grip. “Who cares, right?”  
  
I stare at him long and hard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
He glares down at the presents he’s carrying before he storms out.   
  
“Xander!” I run after him. “Don’t be daft! It isn’t safe.”   
  
As he’s about to turn the knob, the door suddenly opens revealing Rupert.   
  
“You’re back.” I breathe a sigh of relief.  
  
“We have managed to clear the damage in the library and bury the demon. I have to, however, think of a plausible excuse to give Snyder about the skylight.” He looks between us. “Is something the matter?”  
  
“We were waiting for you,” I say right away. Xander lowers his gaze without a word. “We think it’s safer for Xander to be driven home.”  
  
“Of course. Come along.” Rupert takes hold of some of Xander’s presents and guides him outside.   
  
The door closes behind them and I’m left with various emotions I don’t want to deal with right now.   
  
Inside my room, I notice a white paper on the floor. Rupert’s receipt. I seize it and the first thing I see is the date of purchase. Xander’s bloody birthday.


	11. Chapter 11

 

 

  
  


 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
And the cycle of birthdays continues. It’s the slayer’s turn now.  
  
To make up for her previous failure, Willow went on an early shopping spree. She was even more of a gnat in the ear than last time; badgering us to buy presents off the list _she_ made, cake and letter helium balloons spelling ‘Buffy’ ordered in advance, and to top that a protection spell that ended up causing an episode of Joan of Arc.  
  
None of that matters, though, as all that headache went down the drains because Buffy has other plans.  
  
“An ice show?” Xander repeats incredulously. “A show performed on ice. And how old are we again?”  
  
_Says the boy whose room is a pothole for silly action figures._ I lean back against my chair, wishing the clouds away for the sweet warmth of the sun. I have become drawn to the heat. Can’t stand the jitters of winter cold, especially when bearing with Rupert’s abashed remarks about dishonoring my English blood.  
  
I reach for the only steaming tea mug in the small table crowded with juice bottles, a plate of fruit salad _and_ Willow – we’re short on chairs. The warmth soothes my dry throat and enables me to care enough to listen to Willow’s story about her father taking her to some ice show as a child.  
  
“Look, I know you guys think it's just a big, dumb, girly thing, but I love it,” Buffy defends her pathetic birthday plans. Willow indulges her by offering her the plate of fruits, and Buffy happily nips on a strawberry. She swallows it and points at me. “It’s like when Giles took William to the New York Public Library for his birthday and we didn’t get it.”  
  
“Oh, I got it and I’m still jealous.” Willow’s wide eyes of envy sends the message more than her comment. Rupert doesn’t play around, that’s some grand present.  
  
“I think it's sweet you and your dad have a tradition.” Willow smiles at Buffy. “Especially now that he's not around so much.”  
  
“A father who only visits on birthdays. At least he visits, right?” Buffy winces and looks at me. “Uh, sorry, Will.”  
  
No one notices my frown of confusion since Willow instantly goes on full babble-mode, “Will’s mother did visit. A lot. It was during the summer when you were away. Then that one time after you came back, when…” she trails off with an unsure glance thrown at my direction.  
  
“Sorry about that, too, Will,” Buffy says, her expression rolls from unease to disgust. Then she shudders; her face is that of a girl shaking off a cockroach crawling down her back.  
  
Xander coughs in an attempt to change the subject. “So, no party?” he asks Buffy. “I mean, some of us still love to relish celebrating in the birth of the Buff.”  
  
“I don’t know.” Buffy shifts in her seat, trying to let us down easy. “I think it might be time to put a moratorium on parties in my honor. They tend to go badly. Monsters crash. People die.”  
  
“But eighteen is a _big_ one, Buffy,” Willow stresses, sucking on her fork in disappointment as a week’s worth of shopping goes down the toilet.  
  
“And speaking of eighteen.” Xander gets up and wraps Buffy into a bear hug. “Here comes hug number seven.”  
  
“Xander, when will this hugging-fest wear off?” she teases, but the gleam of joy in her eyes shines brighter now that her friend is finally cured.  
  
“Eighteen hugs every day until your birthday. And then I’ll find another excuse to keep hugging my favorite girl.”  
  
Willow winces at that, then looks guiltily at her boyfriend. Oz sends her a reassuring smile, which she returns. All while I’m trying to find the connection between my mother’s disappearance and Buffy’s ‘sorrys’.  
  


 

~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
Another dull day about to end. Here comes the best part of being a human teenager; going home and being waited on by my own father. A palatable steak and ale pie with a glass of Scotch, and a new episode of Dowson Creek. Here’s hoping Rupert isn’t busy with some mundane research.  
  
I peer inside the library and catch Rupert sticking a needle into Buffy’s arm. She doesn’t stir or talk, which isn’t like her, just sits there. He pulls the needle back out and hastily puts it and a tube in a small, brown case. Something doesn’t feel right about this.  
  
I push the door open. “Rupert?”  
  
He bolts, the small case in his hand knocking a large blue crystal to the floor.  
  
Buffy snaps awake. “What? Wha… oh, Giles, what happened?” She stares, wide eyed, at the shattered pieces of the crystal on the floor.  
  
“William forgot that it’s common sense to knock before entering unannounced.” Rupert’s steel cool stare confirms my doubts. Something _is_ going on.  
  
“What’s that?” Buffy points at the brown case.  
  
With a fluster, Rupert stuffs it into a briefcase. “N-nothing to concern yourself with. I-I see our session seems to have come to an unfortunate end.”  
  
“Sorry I zoned out on you. It’s probably the bug flu.”  
  
“Best to take care of that.” Slayer sure must have heard the strain in his voice. She doesn’t, just drowsily walks past me and waves goodbye.  
  
Fixing my eyes at Rupert’s back, I wait until Buffy leaves the library. “Slayer’s gone. Care to weigh in on what’s going on?”  
  
Rupert turns around, his face burdened with conflicting emotions. He doesn’t hold back though, he lays it all out in the open. I’ve never understood what it’s like tasting the disgust in your mouth until now.  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Buffy is at her wit’s end. She assembled the whole lot, and now everyone’s nose is buried in a book trying to find a cure to fix her.  
  
“It’ll be much easier if we knew what’s causing it,” Oz points out.  
  
“He’s right,” Xander says. “Why is Buffy losing her powers?”  
  
The girl in question looks lost for words, desperately trying to keep herself together.  
  
“Buffy,” Willow approaches tentatively, “Did something happen that, well, caused this?”  
  
Buffy’s lower lip trembles. “I don’t know,” she chokes out miserably.  
  
_I do,_ the thought twirls in my head as I stare at the empty office. Rupert had rushed in here minutes ago, didn’t offer any helping answers to the distressed girl and then dashed out with his briefcase. Never thought I’d see this day; a slayer stabbed in the back by her own watcher. Caustic tragedy. As someone who fought his share of slayers, and beat them, I’ve never heard of this test. Locking a depowered girl in a house with a psychopath with no means of escape.  
  
Should be amusing, but all I feel is a sickening taste in my mouth. This _feeling_ , the tightening of my chest, the same effect Xander crying in the library on Christmas had on me.  
  
This bloody humanity. It’s why I’m still sitting at the library reading a useless book when everyone had buggered off half an hour ago.  
  
Buffy closes her book with a sigh and then forces an appreciative smile at me. “Better call it a night, Will.” She places the book on the table and puts on her sweater.  
  
“Are you going home?” I ask with a yawn.  
  
“No, I’m going to see Angel.”  
  
My cringe goes unnoticed. “Need a lift?”  
  
“Thanks, but I can manage.” She starts toward the door.  
  
“Rupert left me the car.” I fling the keys up and then catch them. “It’s safer than walking.”  
  
She turns around with a defensive air. “Why didn’t you offer that to the others?”  
  
“They’ve taken Dog Boy’s van.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
I place my book on the table and look directly at her. “And even if they didn’t, none of them was ever Superman until some gold kryptonite drained their power.” Buffy looks away. “They’ve been regular all their lives. Survival methods all intact.”  
  
She doesn’t meet my gaze, pensively eying the weapon cage. My words hit home. Not only for her, but for me as well. That’s what it is, I identify with her. It’s all about solidarity. Haven’t gone soft. Especially not with the _slayer_ of all people.  
  
“So, accepting the offer?” I wiggle my car keys at her direction.  
  
Her appreciative smile doesn’t look forced this time.  
  
  
  
  
  


 

~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
  
“Buffy!” Angel loses that tiny twitch in the corners of his lips – what passes for a delighted smile – and his mouth is a straight line again. “Oh, William.”  
  
Hands shoved in my jeans pockets, I note the dancing fire, the two candles and the cushions positioned in front of the fire place. Having singlehandedly pissed on whatever romantic date he had planned is worth turning myself into the slayer’s personal chauffeur.  
  
“I won’t take long,” Buffy tells me. “Maybe you should start the car.”  
  
And making myself scarce I did. I’m afraid she’ll take her time in there now that my unwanted presence isn’t putting the brakes on any snogging. At least, I know it won’t lead to anything below the waste area. She knows better than to bring back a soulless Angel now that she’s just a regular girl.  
  
She doesn’t take long to my relief. A girl of her word. She sits silently, tucked behind her seatbelt, staring off out of the window. I notice a thin, brown book in her lap. Birthday present from Romeo.  
  
Should I say something? Feels like I should. Got that whole brothers in arms bit going for us. Just a couple of ordinary teenage children who used to have it all.  
  
What do I say though? ‘I get it’? ‘Been there’? ‘ _Still_ there’? Can of worms should stay locked. No use of outing myself for the _Slayer._  
  
And so, the drive to her house borders on uncomfortable silence – not counting the noise coming from the engine. Rupert’s old rot never disappoints. She doesn’t move or react to anything until she notices the front door of her own house standing open.  
  
“Mom,” her tone is panicked.  
  
“There’s something taped to the doorframe,” I comment, holding my glasses straight to see better. It’s a photo.  
  
I follow Buffy as she strides over towards the photo and pulls it down to look at it. I peer over her shoulder, the psychopath Rupert showed me a picture of is holding Buffy’s mother by the neck. Buffy turns the picture over, and on the back is written "come".  
  
“We need to call Giles.” She rushes toward the phone, her shaking fingers attempting to dial the number of our flat.  
  
He won’t be there, I ponder, he’s most probably over at wherever his watcher chums are staying. “Buffy,” I mutter after hesitation. “I know who this bloke is. I know where he took your mother.”  
  
She lets the phone slip from her hand and stares at me, more out of caution than shock. “How?”  
  
“Reason you’re not a pillar for strength anymore are those wankers, I believe your watcher refers to them by ‘the council.’” She looks lost, lips parted slightly, eyes glistening with unshed tears of betrayal. Makes me swallow a lump gathered at my throat, unable to look her in the eyes anymore. “When a slayer is eighteen, and most of them don’t reach that age, which explains why I never heard of this test…”  
  
“Test?” she whispers.  
  
Shaky nod. I balance the heel of my left trainer on the toe of my right and vice versa uneasily. “You’re to fight some nutcase vampire in an abandoned boardinghouse called ‘Sunnydale Hands’ or possibly ‘Arms,’ either way it’s naff.”  
  
“You jerk,” she grits out. Can’t look at her eyes, but I can see her fists shaking terribly. “You knew what it was… all this time and you haven’t said anything?” She gave me an aggressive push on the chest – as aggressive as a recently depowered girl can manage. “You saw what it was doing to me!”  
  
“Hey, I’m not the one who stuck a needle in you!” I bite my big mouth shut.  
  
“A needle?” She looks like she’s unable to suck in a breath. “Who…no, no, that’s a lie.”  
  
Heavy sigh escapes my mouth. “He must answer to the council.”  
  
“Giles would never…”  
  
“Buffy, take it up with Rupert later. Your mother is in danger. Saving her is the priority here.”  
  
That has her close her mouth, gaze averts to the floor. She starts walking aimlessly towards the kitchen. Did she break? Am I to put the pieces back together?  
  
“Buffy,” I call her name, following her into the kitchen. “Snap out of it. Not the perfect time to be brain-dead.”  
  
I find her fiddling with some pots and pans inside a drawer.  
  
“Let’s call up the others.” I approach her. “Get them in here. We’ll take Oz’s van and…”  
  
She smacks my face with a pan. I feel my glasses slipping to the floor, but that’s about it, before another smack on the head sends me to lala land.  
  
  
  


 

~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
Breath comes out in shudders. Head hurts, being cradled in a soft pillow doesn’t make it better. My vision isn’t clear as I open my eyes. Buffy’s living room. TV is on. Smell of hot chocolate and biscuits.  
  
“You’re awake?” Buffy’s mum walks over with a smile.  
  
I blink my foggy vision into clearance, works enough to make out Buffy’s mum, but then adds extra headache to the already existing one. “You… you’re here?”  
  
“Buffy and Mr. Giles saved me.” She helps me up to my feet and escorts me to the kitchen where delicious smells invite me in. The aroma of the hot chocolate tickles my nostrils.  
  
“Where is Buffy?” Stupid bint deserves a frying pan in the head. All that pitying and driving her about and that’s the thanks I get!  
  
“At school.” Buffy’s mother places a plate of biscuits and marshmallows on the island. “They said they needed to take care of some things.” She apolitically lifts up the pair of my broken glasses. “Sorry about that.”  
  
My headache sharpens just as my gaze falls on the large birthday floral arrangement on the island.  
  
“From Buffy’s dad,” Mrs. Summers explains when she notices my line of sight. “He couldn’t make it.”  
  
The throbbing pain in my head won’t let me sympathize. Instead, I take a sip from my mug and pop in a marshmallow.  
  
“I hope we’re all right, you and me.” Buffy’s mum leans in next to me, her face considerate and a bit hopeful. “You haven’t stepped a foot in our house since the candy incident.”  
  
“Oh, yeah?”  
  
She smiles tenderly. “Nothing is going on between me and your father. I really hope Buffy isn’t losing a friend over this.”  
  
Speaking of Buffy; the front door clicks open, and into the kitchen walks Buffy with a big gash on her forehead. Her bloodshed eyes regard me with silent guilt and resentment. “Giles is waiting for you outside.”  
  
“Better sod off then,” I mutter with a displeased twist in the lips. I finish off the hot chocolate and steal a couple of biscuits before I rise to my feet. I spare the girl’s mother a glance. “We’re all right.”  
  
She beams.  
  
I nod my head and then walk past a worn-out Buffy, wanting more than anything to get out of this house.  
  
Inside the Citroën, Rupert isn’t meeting my eyes, gaze ahead, jaw set in a firm clench. His hands are gripping so hard on the wheel his white knuckles about to burst. Darting my gaze to the fleeting trees out of the window – “Buffy looks worse for wear.”  
  
“She’ll be all right.” His voice controlled and very low.  
  
More fleeting buildings as the silence thickens once more. Human emotions building up within, twisting and straining, too close to the surface.  
  
“You shagged Buffy’s mum,” I stammer, deadpan. “Cheated on my mother.”  
  
“William, not now.”  
  
Tough. He said whenever I’m ready to talk, didn’t say anything about him being ready. “She ain’t coming back. You mucked it up. And tonight Buffy and her mum were almost killed because of you…”  
  
“I went into that house and saved Buffy,” he snaps in irritation. “And I got fired for my efforts.”  
  
So that’s what got up his nose. “What about Buffy?”  
  
“They’ll send another watcher.”  
  
He still isn’t looking at me, gaze ahead, jaw set in steel, and hands firmly clutching that wheel. I stare at him until I’m crossed eyed – more pain is added to my already existing headache, so useless without my sodding glasses.  
  
As I rub on my forehead I consider our situation – do we go back to the England? Are we done with the Slayer and her friends? Do I finally get to meet my mother?  
  
“What will happen to us?”  
  
“Nothing.” Tone as tight as his jaw muscle.  
  
“But you’re not her watcher anymore.”  
  
“I’ll always be there for her.”  
  
“Like you did when you poisoned her.” Cheap shot but well-deserved.  
  
Hands loosen their death grip on the wheel, jaw trembles, and gaze darts at me for a fleet second. “Never again.”  
  
Silence drops as the moment passes. I offer him the other biscuit. He’s composed enough to accept it.


	12. Chapter 12

 

  
**Part 12:**

 

  
  
  
Channeling a caged animal, Rupert hasn’t stopped pacing about in the library. “Buffy is rather late, isn’t she?” He jerks his jacket sleeve up and glance at his watch. “Lives at stake. Evil that needs to be fought. She _knows_ that.”  
  
Buffy has dashed out claiming she needed ‘faith’, which I mistook for a religious artifact, until I realized later that ‘faith’ was _another_ slayer.  
  
Been a hostage in this hell for nearly two months, reluctantly involved in drastic life and death brawls with these lot, and none of them has bothered to tell me there’s another slayer in town? Clearly after Dru bagged the previous one, not in this timeline seemingly as someone else must have offed the bird, another slayer is to be called. You’d think those bloody council fossils would make the best of having two slayers by sending the other one somewhere else to guard, like Cleveland? Where the other Hellmouth is located?  
  
“Sit down, will you? All that pacing does a bloke’s head in.” I remove my smashing new glasses and clasp a hand over my aching forehead.  
  
Rupert clutches the back of the chair next to mine, the way his glasses glisten makes his rather dull eyes intimidating. “I can’t bloody sit down.”  
  
“It’s just a vampire nest.”  
  
“Who knows if that’s all it is?” he spits out, frustration seeping out of him in waves. “I don’t have enough sources to confirm that.”  
  
“And whose fault is that?” Can tell it’s too early to humor him about being sacked, because those intimidating eyes have gone feral.  
  
Saved by the blockhead; sounds of weapons crashing to the floor erupt from the weapon cage.  
  
With the heavy sigh of a man who’s burdened with dealing with a particular airhead, Rupert bawls, “ _Xander_!”  
  
Blockhead emerges from the weapon cage with his usual wide hangdog grin, rubbing his hands together. “I was just testing my weapon of choice.”  
  
Rupert strides towards him. “How much damage have you caused?” He peers inside and almost looks like he’s about to faint. “Bloody hell!”  
  
The library doors swing open, revealing a very distressed Willow who flings herself on a chair and releases the loudest sigh followed with a pout.  
  
Engrossed by Rupert ripping Xander a new one, I almost miss Willow’s second pathetic sigh for attention.  
  
Holding in my own sigh of annoyance, I tilt my head and grimace at her. “What’s the matter?”  
  
Already regretting signaling her the green light when she takes a deep breath before her motor-mouth starts running, “Aaron just got his college application to Harvard and he got in and it was disturbing, not him ‘cause yay, I’m all for the yay, but what about me, you know? I haven’t got my college application to any of the colleges I’ve applied to, does that mean rejection? Of course it does. Why else have they not arrived yet? What about you? Have you heard from Oxford yet?”  
  
Taking a deep breath myself to absorb all that – “Nothing yet.”  
  
“Oh.” She tries for disappointment on my behalf but clearly appears relieved she isn’t the only one who didn’t get a word on her future.  
  
Going to Oxford _again_? Not bloody likely. Though a modern Oxford would be quite interesting. Not that I’m staying long enough to find out. The shipment of the ingredients I ordered from the Magic Shop have been delayed due to Christmas and New Year’s, I should be getting the package soon enough though.  
  
Can’t wait to trade my tan for inflammable skin.  
  
Library doors swing again, and it’s Buffy and the other slayer. Quite a fetching girl that one, all leather and dark, a complete contrast from Goldilocks there.  
  
“Bring on the vamp nest, G, ‘cause this chick’s ready to waste some…” the brunette slayer trails off when her gaze lands on me. “Check out Watcher Jr. You weren’t kidding, B.”  
  
“What does she mean you weren’t kidding?” I ask Buffy indignantly. “What have you been yapping about me? Isn’t it enough you took a frying pan to my head?”  
  
“Said I was sorry,” Buffy says with a pout. “And you love the new glasses I got you. Those new frames weren’t exactly cheap.”  
  
Rupert has already reached his forehead rubbing stage. “Can we get on to important matters? Like the vampire nest?”  
  
“Already got everything we need for the clouding spell,” Willow chirps with a brittle chuckle and a little bounce.  
  
Faith slithers her way towards me and twirls my chain wallet with her finger. “Like the Grant Hills look.” She looks me up and down with a leer.  
  
“Likewise,” I reply, inching closer.  
  
She smirks, noting my interest. “Keep it in, G Junior, you oughta wait ‘til we bust that vamp nest. Then,” – she winks and walks away – “we might talk.”  
  
Flaring nostrils. Just wait until I get my fangs back and she’ll be the third slayer on my list.  
  
Another crash erupts from the weapon cage. Rupert is too exhausted to react.  
  
Xander comes out of there, having the decency to look sheepish. “I’ve decided to go weaponless.”  
  
Buffy looks at the klutz with concern. “You sure you’re up to this, Xander? It might be dangerous.”  
  
He gives a careless shrug. “What’s so dangerous about a vampire nest?”  
  
“You mean aside from the blood sucking and the killing?” Faith lifts both eyebrows in ridicule. “This is way outta your league, chump. Leave the heavy work for the pros.”  
  
“Hey, I resent that.” Xander glares and points a finger at her. “I’ve been part of this fight before you unwrapped your first stake. And if pro was a superhero, I’d be Batman to your Robin.”  
  
Faith gives a bemused headshake and walks past him to the weapon cage.  
  
Girl may have been a tease and left me hot and bothered, but I don’t see her in a billion galaxies looking twice at Mr. Smee over there.  
  
  
  


 

~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
  
Turns out it’s more than a vampire nest. It’s a spanking new apocalypse. Worse than anything Buffy and her lot have faced before. And that means research hour for every Tom, Dick, and Harry at the library, except for Faith who thinks she’s above reading, and Xander who Buffy sent away on a donut run, and Oz who…. howls on cue.  
  
Willow squirms in her seat, looking over her shoulder at the grouchy werewolf inside the weapon cage.  
  
The apocalypse has got everybody on edge, especially old Rupes, who just did a new number on the phone inside his office.  
  
“Poor Giles.” Willow glances up sympathetically from the book she’s had her nose buried in for a while. “I still don’t understand why the watcher council fired him.”  
  
Buffy twitches, but remains silent. She deliberately doesn’t meet my gaze, probably in fear of what she might see in it. The day after her mother’s kidnap and the unfortunate frying pan incident, she walked into the library and talked to Rupert as if nothing happened. Every ounce of anger that girl had seemed to have was drained away. If it were me, I wouldn’t have had anything to do with Rupert after a betrayal like this.  
  
Girl must have weighed her options. Without Rupert to lend in his ancient knowledge on evil, she’ll be lost. Most likely killed. She’s not so dense after all. She needs all the help she can get, every single Power Ranger in her little gaggle of do-gooders.  
  
“Hello there, dear friends of mine.” Xander trudges into the library, holding up a box of donuts like a waiter.  
  
Buffy slams her book shut a little too fast and straightens up. “Oooh, donuts.” She indicates with her head for me to drop my book as well.  
  
“Added more jellies on popular demand.” Xander grins, mistaking her fake enthusiasm with the sight of the box in his hands. He places it on the table with all the research books and papers. “So, how’s the research party going?”  
  
Willow shakes her head. “It’s going no…”  
  
“Great,” Buffy interrupts. “Actually, we’ve already figured out how to stop the apocalypse.”  
  
I arch an eyebrow at her and share a look with Willow.  
  
“So you don’t need my help?” Xander looks between us.  
  
“Nope.” Buffy snatches Willow’s book from her hands, closes it and puts it on the table. “Already taken care of.”  
  
“Good, good.” Xander rubs the back of his neck, a bit embarrassed. “I just met this girl…”  
  
“You met a girl?” Willow exclaims, a tad too loud. “Where?”  
  
“Outside the donut shop.”  
  
“And she’s digging the Xand-man,” Buffy says with a smile.  
  
“Seems more like she’s digging the wheels. But that’s good. The car is my _thing_ after all.”  
  
The girls nod, trying to stifle their giggles.  
  
“I’ll be at the Bronze. If you need my help…”  
  
“We won’t,” Buffy cuts in. “Go have fun.”  
  
A flash of hurt crosses Xander’s eyes, but he masks it with a huge grin and scurries out of the library.  
  
“I can’t believe he met a girl,” Willow mumbles, not so pleased.  
  
“I’m glad he did,” Buffy says. “That should keep him out of trouble.”  
  
I stare at her for a second. Boy certainly didn’t do himself any favors, almost getting slaughtered last night by the horrid Sisterhood of Jhe. Though I won’t say he doesn’t bring anything to the table. Much as I hate to admit it, the lad saved my bum a few times since I woke up as William, human adolescent. Slayer should give him more credit than that.  
  
“Why are you so insistent on excluding him?”  
  
She sighs, grabbing her book and going through the pages in search for the one she was reading. “I had a taste of what it’s like to be powerless. Being a normal girl in Sunnydale was, let’s just say, it wasn’t a picnic. I just don’t want Xander to get killed.”  
  
A slow nod. Not entirely convinced. “Last I’ve checked; I don’t possess any superpower. Don’t see you so adamant on keeping me out.”  
  
She shakes her head. “It’s different. You don’t foolishly throw yourself in the fray the way Xander does.”  
  
My eyebrows furrow. “Hold on a tick. Are you suggesting that I’m a coward?”  
  
Tongue tied, Buffy stammers, “What? No.”  
  
“But you’re saying that Xander is braver.”  
  
“Did you miss the ‘foolish’ part? Xander is bravely foolish.” When my frown deepens, she amends, “And you’re brave, too. In a cautious type of way, which is very smart. You think before you act, you hesitate, there is hesitation involved, and did I mention that you’re cautious?”  
  
“In other words, coward.”  
  
“No, that’s not…”  
  
“Besides, you study demonology,” Willow offers, holding up a book towards me. “And we could really use your knowledge on demons right now.”  
  
“Right. The demon thing.” Buffy brightens, but slides down in her chair at my fierce stare. “Should have thought of that.”  
  
“Also, the exorcism spell, remember?” Willow reminds me seriously. “You’re the one who keeps insisting that we use it. I think this time calls for it.”  
  
I have no knowledge of that spell and have never studied demonology, but I’ve got years of fighting all sorts of demons under my belt, so there’s that. And I’m a fast learner. I can learn a spell in seconds.  
  
  
  


 

~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
Great, Spike, the apocalypse is happening at the moment in the library and you’re missing it. Dropping the paper with the exorcism prayer in the school’s basement of all places. Shouldn’t have brought it along when Willow and I locked Wolf-Boy in there.  
  
That Hellmouth demon is one nasty green multi-headed bugger. The way it burst through the library floor – I was a tick away from a deadly heart attack. Chit was right. I _am_ a coward. Without the vampire lore, I’m nothing. Just a little teenage wimp, standing on the sidelines, watching everybody, even tiny Willow, contribute to the fight.  
  
Fact that Angel is in there, giving it his own, I almost leapt empty-handed at danger ala Xander. I would have, if it weren’t for Willow pushing me away from a green tentacle that was about to smash me to pieces.  
  
“The prayer of exorcism,” she yelled, swinging an axe at the tentacle. “Where is it?”  
  
Just a dozens of words to be chanted. Could have made a difference. But things _never_ go my way.  
  
I finally reach the door to the basement when I stop in my tracks. It’s open. We left it closed, Willow and I, I remember as much. Did Oz escape? Bollocks, last we need right now is a stray wolf. Must get that paper before hell breaks… looser.  
  
I start making my way down the stairs, quiet as a mouse, case Oz is still down there.  
  
“I know what you’re thinking. Can I get by him?”  
  
Gluing myself to the wall at once. That’s Xander’s voice. What’s he doing down there? Thought he was at the teenybopper club chatting up that new bird he claims he’d met. Less he was full of it and there’s no girl to begin with.  
  
I reach the bottom of the stairs and peer into the boiler room. There’s Harris and that’s that aloof git who sits alone at lunch. Word spread that he bullied Xander good and proper earlier today.  
  
Bloke is shaking like a leaf, making Harris twice the man he really isn’t. Wait. Is that a bomb?!  
  
“I don’t love your chances,” Xander taunts, too daft to be aware of that sodding bomb ticking inches away from him.  
  
“Then you’ll die, too,” Bully Boy grunts.  
  
Xander’s eyebrows fly to his hairline carelessly. “Yeah, looks like. So I guess the question is… who has less fear?”  
  
“I’m not afraid to die. I’m already dead.”  
  
“Yeah, but this is different,” Xander replies, oddly calm and sounding far more competent and confident than I remember. “Being blowed up isn’t walking around and drinking with your buddies dead. It’s little bits being swept up by a janitor dead, and I don’t think you’re ready for that.”  
  
Bloody Harris, there’s no time to show off your testosterone sloshing machismo! A bomb is about to blow up there. Even Bully Boy has more sense, trying to get by the boy to the door. Xander isn’t giving him a chance. Revenge of the geek, innit?  
  
“Are you?” Bully’s voice comes out too hoarse with distress.  
  
Xander glances at the bomb, then a thin scary smile reaches his lips. “I like the quiet.”  
  
That smile. The look in his eyes. I’ve seen that look. Christmas Eve. His birthday. Boy is dead serious.  
  
Nothing is happening. My raging heartbeats block the sound of the ticking bomb. Should fly in there. Stop it by any means. But my feet are glued to the floor. Xander’s small smile is all I can see. Boy still isn’t well. Thought everything was going fine and dandy after he got his touch back. Never took myself for being this naïve. Less I didn’t care enough?  
  
And that bleeding jock is still considering his move. Stop the bomb, you fool!  
  
He finally pulls a wire, and the timer goes blank. That was close. My legs almost give out.  
  
Takes Xander a few seconds to realize he isn’t dead. “Good boy.” He stands behind the bully, whispers in his ear, “I don’t think I wanna be seeing you on campus anymore, Jack.”  
  
He starts towards the door, where _I’m_ standing.  
  
Panicked, I glue myself to the wall again. Doesn’t do a thing. Xander is surprised to see me. I want to say something, anything, tell him about the apocalypse, but I don’t. He doesn’t say anything either. His stare flutters and he keeps walking up the stairs in silence.  
  
I watch him disappear out of my sight, then I remember the spell.  
  
Just as I’m about to step a foot into the boiler room, I hear Oz launching on Jack and mauling him.  
  
Suppose Buffy and her lot can save the world without that spell.  
  
  
  
  


 

~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
  
When I reached the library last night, everyone was clearing the place. As usual, the slayer and her groupies managed to stop another apocalypse. All thanks to Rupert as it appears. Buffy was extremely appreciative, could have showed more gratitude if her droopy boyfriend wasn’t out of it. If Rupert wasn’t on the clear about his previous betrayal, I can say right now that the slot is wiped clean.  
  
I watch them from a distance, sitting at the lunch table outside the school, reminiscing about their recent victory.  
  
There he is, man of the hour, walking towards their table. Can’t hear what they’re saying, but Xander looks quite pensive. He smiles, all boy does is smile, and appears to be offering to get them something. They blow him off and he walks away.  
  
Then Cordelia meets him half way.  
  
The girl is relentless, fires off those insults every chance she gets, and the boy is still smiling. Ego all boosted up after his manly show down last night. He can fool Cordelia, he can fool his friends, but I can see past the smile.  
  
“You need help,” I tell him as he passes me by.  
  
He hangs his head in annoyance and turns to face me. “Got the memo already. Too delicate for an apocalypse. You don’t have to spell it out.”  
  
“No, brain-dead, I’m talking about a shrink.”  
  
His eyes go wide with amusement. “So, I’m inadequate _and_ crazy. Great.”  
  
I grab his arm and pull him back when he’s about to walk away. “Listen to me, git, I saw you last night. Smiling in the face of death. I can see it. What I don’t get is how your bloody friends don’t see it as well.”  
  
“So, now you’re admitting I’m _not_ your friend,” he mutters and I flinch at the edge of hurt veiling the anger in his voice.  
  
“What? That’s not what…”  
  
“Forget it, Will.” He yanks his arm out of my grip and stalks away.  
  
“Get help, Xander!” I yell after him.  
  
He waves me off. “Go to hell!”  
  
I shove my hands deeply into my pockets. Boy is stubborn, but I’m even more so. He should know that when Spike sets his mind on something, he always gets what he wants.  



	13. Chapter 13

 

 

 

Leonardo Da Vinci will off himself if he sees the rubbish created in this art class. Make a car out of foam boards? Madam Picasso over there used to just ask us to draw a fruit basket or some other rot but now, because some tit complained, we have to produce art. This class used to be a breeze, only one at that. Don’t think I’ll be seeing anymore “A”s from now on.  
  
“Aw, Mrs. Ward.” Buffy raises her foam board, torn in half. “Can I have another one?”  
  
Art teacher flips another page in the couples’ magazine she’s scanning and nods her head dismissively, clearly unbothered by the consumption of foam boards.  
  
“This is hard,” Willow whines, cutting her board askew.  
  
“Least this is your first mistake. Unlike others.” I smirk at Buffy bringing over her fifth board.  
  
“When you have slayer strength, you get to talk,” she retorts, placing her new board a little too hard on the table and it cracks. She groans and hits her head on the board, cracking it even further.  
  
“Some of us aren’t having much trouble at all,” Oz comments, gesturing at Xander who has already finished pasting the car’s body together.  
  
“Wow, Xander, you’re a natural,” Willow praises, sounding a bit envious. Poor thing isn’t used to her inept friend outshining her.  
  
The boy looks up, bewildered by the attention and admiration he’s getting. He looks between his fine work and the wreck we’ve made, and his lips pull back into a smug grin.  
  
“It’s a no-brainer.” He flips his utility knife into the air and misses it. Thing almost slices his foot in half. Sheepishly scratching the back of his neck with his empty hand, he grabs his pencil and starts drawing the car wheels on what’s left of his foam board.  
  
Serves him right. Putting on airs and all. Once a barmpot always a barmpot.  
  
“Hey, Lar, check this out.” One tosser cuts two thin long pieces of his board and sticks them in his mouth like fangs – never got what’s so funny about this joke.  
  
Larry barely smiles at him and returns his attention to his work.  
  
Willow gives me a gentle nudge. “Have you spoken to Larry after the break up?”  
  
Last time I talked with him was on Christmas Eve when he pointed Xander’s house out to me. Don’t fancy doing that again. Heard his granny set him up with a boy. He doesn’t look any chipper about it. Poor git, still finding it difficult to get over yours truly.  
  
His mate is too thick to get how unfunny his little joke is, attacking everybody’s personal space and growling for a giggle. When he pounces at me, my fist connects to his jaw instinctively. The boy recoils back and knocks Xander – who’s gluing one car wheel to the rest of the body – to the floor.  
  
Willow’s “Xander!” breaks out the same time as my “Bollocks!”  
  
“Watch it, Nimrod!” Xander glares down at his damaged masterpiece. Larry’s chum looks more heartbroken about his broken fangs.  
  
I reach out to help Xander up. “You all right?”  
  
He accepts my hand mutely and lets me help him up. I catch Larry’s piercing stare fixated on our clasped hands.  
  
Suddenly I’m shoved back a step. Larry’s friend covers his jaw with one hand and does not look amused. “I’ll kick your ass, low life.”  
  
“Big talk for a silly walrus.” I don’t waste a second and fire a punch, which the twit ducks before his fist slams against my jawline. Sodding hell, I bit my tongue.  
  
Buffy grabs me by the back of my collar and pushes me back before I mess up the wanker’s face. “That’s enough,” she threatens. Willow behind her sounds the alarm, “Mrs. Ward!”  
  
The teacher sighs and glances at her watch, fifteen more minutes before the end of the class. She reluctantly stands up and musters her best intimidating scowl. “If you two don’t settle down, I’m failing you both even if your cars looked as glamorous as a Jaguar.”  
  
The art room does settle into blooming silence, each pupil turning back to their work minus one. “Mrs. Ward, may I be excused?” Xander’s voice floats into the room, low and suspiciously calm.  
  
Mrs. Ward, still on an admonishing roll, directs her smoldering gaze at the boy. “Where are you going?”  
  
He hesitates for a second – this is the first time the teacher cares enough to investigate. “Uh… the little boys’ room?”  
  
She loses the seething eyes with a tired sigh. Gotta hand it to her, must have taken her a hell of an effort to last this long as a teacher who gives cobblers. “Just go.”  
  
The door clicks shut behind Xander when Willow hands me my utility knife. A hasty glance at the boy’s table. His knife isn’t there.  
  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  
  
“Xander, get your arse out here.” I delve my sharp stare between the bathroom stalls and stop at the only closed door. The revolting stench of urine hanging in the stale air soils my limited sense of smell. If I was still a vampire, I wouldn’t have survived.  
  
“Will?” Xander’s confused voice drifts from inside followed by the sound of flushing. Can’t fool me. This stinks of cover up.  
  
He walks out of the stall with his eyebrows up to his hairline.  
  
Crossing my arms over my chest - “What were you doing in there?”  
  
A pause. “Number two?”  
  
“That right?”  
  
Xander opens his mouth. Closes it. Shakes his head. “You’re crazy.” He walks past me to the sink with a snicker.  
  
I stand behind him as he washes his hands, my suspicious stare reflected on the mirror. “Where’s the knife?”  
  
He shakes his wet hands dry. “What knife?”  
  
“The utility knife. You snuck it out of the art room.” I hold up his long shirt and pat the back pocket of his trousers.  
  
He recoils and slaps my hand away. “Hey there with the naughty touching!” He looks me in the eyes. “You swing that way. I don’t.”  
  
I roll my eyes. “Look I know what you were doing in there. It’s why you keep wearing long sleeved shirts. You’re hiding your scarred wrists.” I grab his hand and attempt to push his sleeve back.  
  
Xander pulls his hand out of my grip and shoves me back. “Hey, knock it off. What’s gotten into you?”  
  
“Where is the utility knife?” I demand, standing so close to him I can feel my breath hitting his skin.  
  
He pushes me back again. “Back in the art room.”  
  
“Right. And I was born yesterday.”  
  
He shakes his head in disgust. “Take a hike, Will.”  
  
_Oh, no, you’re not getting off so easily._ I start following him back to the art room. “Listen to reason now, mate. Keep at it and one day it may cut deeper than it should. Then no one will be around to save your pathetic life.”  
  
“You’re not just crazy,” Xander starts breathlessly, quickening his steps, “You’re a lunatic.”  
  
“And you’re thick as mince,” I retort, following him into the art room. He stops at his table, and I take his arm, whispering into his ear. “It ain’t worth it, Harris. Don’t try something you’ll regret.”  
  
He bends down and picks up something from under the table. “You mean this utility knife?”  
  
I stare at the thing, gobsmacked and a little bit embarrassed. Xander doesn’t say anything further, just lets out a humorless chuckle and starts gathering the rest of the pieces to his foam board.  
  
“William?” Larry whispers behind me, making me jump slightly.  
  
Really not feeling like dealing with him right now, I start thinking of an excuse to get out of talking to him.  
  
“Is it Xander?” he asks solemnly.  
  
Taken aback by the question – “What?”  
  
“Why you… why we didn’t work out.” He looks down then up, putting on a brave face and waiting for the blow. “Is it Xander?”  
  
Not likely. Don’t fancy you, Larry, that’s why. However, thinking about it, William did break it off because of his ninny crush on Suicidal over there. Would probably do us both a favor if I just spit out the truth.  
  
“Yes.” He flinches. “That doesn’t mean a free ticket to pummel him to death though.”  
  
He frowns at my serious expression then a smile finds its way to his lips. “I’d never hurt Xander. I owe the guy. He helped me come out.”  
  
Tossing a skeptical glance at the silent boy redoing his car model, I start wondering if he did have more depths than I’ve given him credit.  
  
“You’re the one who should be watching his back.” Larry nods his chin at his nitwit of a friend trying to make new walrus fangs. “Dan said he’ll wipe the floor with you after school is over.”  
  
I scoff. “Let him dream.” As I make my way back to my table, I’m stopped by the blank stare in Xander’s eyes. He’s looking through the board pieces, his friends laughing together next to him yet he’s unaware. It’s brief, though, as the boy snaps out of it and resumes his work.  
  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  
  
I check out the cut in my tongue in the mirror. How can a tiny little cut be so irritating?  
  
Van Halen’s ‘Without You’ starts blaring through the stereo. I dance over to my bed and look for the mouth gel between the pile of University of Oxford brochures and college applications.  
  
I got into Oxford.  
  
And other very prestigious colleges here in the US.  
  
I got into _Oxford_.  
  
I just… never thought I’d be this enthusiastic about it. How much of it is still the same and how much has changed? Do pupils still skate on the Thames at Port Meadow when it freezes over? Do they still hold canoe racing contests?  
  
I apply the mouth gel over the bitten tongue surface, feeling it numbing the pain a bit. That Dan git was waiting for me outside the school premises. His face flashed a ridiculing smile when he noticed Rupert by my side as we walked out of the school’s building. The tosser must think I’m a wuss. I’ll show him tomorrow when I’m not preoccupied with saving bloody Xander.  
  
The boy is going to the Bronze. Alone. He didn’t make a fuss when Buffy and Willow declined on account of a study night for tomorrow’s chemistry test. He got the face of a bear with a sore head when I offered to tag along. Not exactly reassuring.  
  
_First you say that you will_  
Then you say you won't  
  
Can hear the faint ringing of the phone outside my room through the music and overlook Rupert’s bark to turn down the volume. I comb my gelled hair back flawlessly – reflection is heaven’s gift that the living don’t appreciate much. I run my fingers against my smooth forehead, glad that pimple has buggered off. Buffy and her knowledge in skin care came through again.  
  
_There must be some kind of way_  
That we can make it right  
  
Night has already fallen, and the boy is sure up to something. Hope he waits until after I finish off my dinner, no way I’m passing up Rupert’s bubble and squeak.  
  
_Hey fool, wise up, better late than never_  
Yeah you, you know that nothing lasts--  
  
I stop combing my hair when the music dies suddenly. Rupert is standing next to my stereo, staring at me.  
  
I roll my eyes and grunt. “Fine. I’ll turn it down.”  
  
His intent stare doesn’t waver. Never seen a gaze so cold since my first day as the man’s son when William lied to his father and friends about his weekend plans.  
  
“What?” I snap, a terrible feeling seeping inside.  
  
“Why on earth do you want to summon a vengeance demon?”  
  
My stomach lurches hard as my mouth goes dry. He _knows_. The bloody phone! Why didn’t I answer the phone?!  
  
“A better question; _who_ were you going to curse?” the steel in his calm voice is nothing compared to the obsidian gaze in his eyes.  
  
_Tell him,_ a voice in my head demands. _Put an end to this nightmare. He’d want his real son back. He’ll help you retrieve your fangs. Be who you are._  
  
“Who were you going to curse, William?” Rupert’s voice rises sharply.  
  
A lump so thick in my throat clogs my vocal cords. Words can’t pass my lips. Gaze, mind and soul captured by the betrayed stare mirrored in his eyes.  
  
_Tell him,_ the voice persists. _What’s holding you back?_  
  
The warm smell of roasted dinner floats in the air and lingers amid the college applications and the Oxford brochures on my crumpled bed.  
  
“Is it me?”  
  
That snaps me out of my numb silence. “What?”  
  
His gaze is lowered; jaw looks like it has been set in iron. “It all makes sense. You stopped talking to me after your mother…” He bites on his lips, words lost in his throat.  
  
“Caught your affaire de coeur with another woman?” I decide to help.  
  
He winces and then glowers up at me. “You changed your appearance, started calling me by my first name, disrespecting me every chance you get.”  
  
My jaw line goes rigid. “You think this is all about you, innit?”  
  
“You’re punishing me,” he spits out. “But that’s not enough, you had to summon….”  
  
“Get off your high horse there, _Rupes_ ,” I retort sharply, taking a step forward and staring him down, glasses to glasses. “This ain’t about you. I did it…”  
  
_Tell him!_  
  
“… for Xander,” the lame lie slips weakly.  
  
His incredulous stare can melt steel girders.  
  
A weak shrug. “I wanted to help him get his touch back.”  
  
“On your own?” he exclaims. “William, that’s exceptionally irresponsible…”  
  
“Xander at the Bronze.” Realization suddenly drops down. It’s almost 9 PM.  
  
Rupert removes his glasses and begins rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. “You are not to meet your friends anywhere for two weeks. Especially with a test tomorrow.”  
  
“No, I _have_ to be there or he’ll hurt himself.” I start towards the door, but Rupert blocks my way.  
  
“Xander is capable of going to a club on his own, William.”  
  
“Would you put on your bloody glasses and open your eyes for a minute? Xander hasn’t been well for a while now.”  
  
Rupert does put on his glasses. “He looked fine enough this morning.”  
  
“Not what I meant. I’m talking gun to the head, rope tied to the ceiling fan, knife to the wrist kind of not well.”  
  
He tries not to choke on his laughter. “Xander? That’s preposterous.”  
  
That’s it. I’m going. I try to get past him to the door, but he grabs me by the shoulders and pushes me back. I try to shove him aside, but God, he is much stronger.  
  
“Stop this nonsense, William.” He pushes me back until I fall on my bed. “You are not to leave this house except to school for two weeks.”  
  
“If Xander winds up dead tonight, it’s on your neck.” My grip on one of the brochures tightens with frustration.  
  
He sighs and starts closing the door. I fling the brochure at him but it ends up slamming against the closed door.  
  


~*~*~*~


	14. Chapter 14

 

  
  


 

                                                                     

Made by **Tickyboxes**

  
  
  
Mrs. Taggart places the test booklet on my table, and with tired eyes I stare at where I’m supposed to write my name. I have studied. Been a true swot. But a certain brainless wanker kept interrupting my train of thought, and substance and energy didn’t seem to matter.  
  
Glancing at the boy sitting behind me, all that worrying amounted to nothing ‘cause Xander hasn’t offed himself last night at the Bronze. He didn’t even go there. Rupert was generous enough to take my concerns seriously and called the boy’s house. He told me Xander pissed himself laughing ‘cause who goes out clubbing when there’s a big test the next day. He can lie through his teeth all he wants, but there’s no fooling me. He can’t hide it for long, one day I’ll catch him flat-footed.  
  
_Was it really a lie though?_ The question catches _me_ flat-footed. Is Xander really harming himself? Not last night apparently, ‘cause there he is, fine as rains, and desperately trying to tick the right answers. Once Buffy shuts her gob that is.  
  
“You see, the thing was, Faith knew I didn't even wanna go down there...”  
  
Mrs. Taggart clears her throat. “Ms. Summers?”  
  
Buffy turns around, jerking her seat and knocking mine, pencil flying to the floor. I really hate this chemistry lab! Every time I wind up here, bad luck strikes. My brassed off stare floats from Buffy doing a buttoning her lips gesture to the teacher to my pencil on the floor as I lean down to take it.  
  
I turn to the first page in the booklet and stare at the twaddle written in it. Multiple choices; shouldn’t be hard. First question: _This gas law deals with pressure and…_  
  
“Okay, so the best part...”  
  
I grit my teeth when Buffy starts again. Can’t see the teacher. Must have slipped out to the loo or do something better than waste a whole period watching children sweat and whimper.  
  
“Buffy. Test?” Willow interrupts Ms. Chatterbox urgently. “You know. Remember? The thing you didn't come over to study for?” Despite her passive aggressive approach, the bitterness in her words don’t seep into her tone.  
  
“Right. Got it.” Let’s hope she means it. The slayer has become such a skiver since the last apocalypse – too much time with Leather Pants ought to do that.  
  
I glance at her settling in her seat. She notices and mistakes my fleeting look for interest. Grinning from ear to ear, she pushes her chair closer next to mine. “So, Will, we were at the sewers…”  
  
“Do I look desperately bored to you? Get stuffed!”  
  
She purses her lips, then turns around to face Xander and Willow again. “Sorry. Okay, so we're down there, in the sewers, and Faith got three of them on her at once...”  
  
“Hey! Whoa!” Xander cuts her off. “Can we resume Buffy's 'Ode to Faith' later, like when I'm not actively multiple-choicing?”  
  
There’s a pause. “How come your eye twitches every time I say Faith's name?”  
  
I look over my shoulder at Xander whose eye does twitch. “What?” He lets out a nervous chuckle. “No, it doesn’t.”  
  
Buffy leans in closer to him, her eyes intently watching his face. “Faith.”  
  
His eye twitches again, and he slaps his hand over it. “Cut it out! We got a test to take, okay? And I'm highly caffeinated, and I'm trying to concentrate. Some of us actually care about school. You know.”  
  
I return my gaze back to the test, but once again Xander stands between me and conjugate acids. He appears perfectly normal with a side crush on Ms. Bad Influence. Is it all in my head? The boy isn’t really a sad clown after all?  
  
  


 

~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
Ride back is as silent as death; slow, agonizing and endless. I don’t think Rupert will utter a word. Last night still too fresh and raw in his mind. I rest my head against the glass and close my eyes – could use some shuteye after spending a whole night worrying about nothing.  
  
“What do you think of the new watcher?”  
  
The question comes as a shock on its own, and it takes a few seconds before what he asked registers. The council’s new replacement has arrived yesterday; a younger, rather carbon version of the codgers who shipped him to take over Rupert’s duties as Buffy and Faith’s official watcher.  
  
“Uptight and a bit of a plonker. Why do you ask?”  
  
Rupert shifts his hands on the wheel and arches his back, a long due sigh leaks out. “After our blow up last night, I have been thinking. In the past two and a half years, I have been neglecting you in favor of Buffy and her calling.”  
  
I cock my head to the side. “Understandable.”  
  
“Of course, but now that Wesley’s here, I thought instead of trying to drive him away – an approach Buffy seems to be taking – it would be for the best to take him under my wing, teach him how to operate well with Buffy. That should give us an opportunity to leave Sunnydale permanently after your graduation.”  
  
My eyes strain wide as I process his words. “What?”  
  
“You were accepted in Oxford, which wasn’t an easy task as you know. Two and a half years away from a proper English education was not in your favor. Your grandmother’s relations and connections contributed to your acceptance.”  
  
His foot leaps to the brake, almost crossing a red light. Another sigh escapes his lips, and down goes the glasses for a quick clean up. I watch him, words lost, unable to comprehend what he’s saying. Leave Sunnydale? Away from the Hellmouth? Away from a chance of going back to where I belong?  
  
“But this is where your part starts.” He puts his glasses back on and looks directly at me. “This is a chance of a lifetime, William. I know you will do well once you apply yourself.”  
  
“What about being there for Buffy no matter what?” Is that curiosity in my voice or desperation to stay?  
  
“That was before I realized your future is at risk.” Genuine smile of a father graces his lips. “You come first, William.”  
  
I have never known my real father. Or if I did, I don’t remember him or his influence in my life. Anything about him has faded away in a century worth of more important and crucial events. Rupert’s heart to hearts always leave an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach. Heart raging and body heating up, horrible feeling, add up his intense stare fixated on my face. Can we have a head-on collision with a car rollover on the side?  
  
Rupert starts the car when the traffic light signals green. “Speaking of your future, how was your chemistry test today?”  
  
Any words on that car crash?  
  
  


 

~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
Sodding hell, they are longer. I line up my fingers again, matching the base crease with the palm. My right hand fingers are _still_ longer than my left hand fingers.  
  
Hands dropped to my sides, I stare at the ceiling and fight off a new yawn, my leg swinging back and forth. No TV, no computer, no phone calls. Rupert should get a medal in the arts of punishment.  
  
I push myself off the bed and wander around the room, touching this and that. The framed pictures already collected too much dust. Slipping onto my chair, popping my neck and my sigh turns into a full blown yawn. I start to open and close my desk’s drawer, watching the contents inside jiggling.  
  
I open the drawer and stop, my gaze focused on William’s little notebook of love poems. _There’s nothing else to do._ I grab the small book and fling myself in bed. First page already has a poem handwritten by Nancy Boy.  
  
_Camouflaged Grief_ is the title. ‘Camouflaged’? Young William does have range, doesn’t he?  
  
_He jokes, he smiles_  
_His laugh rings false for those who care_  
 _He jokes, they laugh_  
 _Of subterranean pain they are unaware_  
  
_He charms, they buy_  
 _Uniting the world with his facetious might_  
 _Strolls about with the mask of a clown_  
 _Sealing the darkness underneath the light_  
  
Doesn’t sound bad. Not exactly keen on the rhymes, always felt they bound a poet. But for a child in the modern world, he’s got potential.  
  
Now, of course, the object of our boy’s interest here is none other than Falstaff Harris. I check the date under the title; March 16th, 1997. William, you love sick puppy, been bearing a torch in silence for _that_ long?  
  
_Look who’s talking,_ the bitter thought twirls in my head. Who is William but a modern version of me. My infatuation with Cecily should be locked and drained out of existence.  
  
_My eyes see, all he conceals_  
_For the eyes of love are not always blind_  
  
‘Love’? William, oh, William, you naive little fool.  
  
_Behind all the smiles are the tears_  
_For the contemporary loss conquers his mind_  
  
_Night and night nightmares never end_  
 _Jesse appears and disturbs his sleep_  
 _Face of the devil bursts to dust_  
 _And his guilt and grief cut too deep_  
  
“William?” Rupert’s voice muffled behind the door. I stumble out of the bed and kick the notebook under the desk.  
  
Soft knocks on the door followed by Rupert’s head peering inside. “Your mother’s on the phone.”  
  
My eyebrows furrow. “Since when she started calling?”  
  
“I informed her about what happened last night.” He has the decency to look guilty at that. “It’s clear you feel a tad full of resentment after what happened with your mother.”  
  
_Give me a break._ The corner of my mouth tips up and my eyebrows sink into a disbelieving gaze.  
  
“I just want to do what’s right. I want to make amends.” He opens the door wider and gestures for me to go out. “Best not to keep her waiting for long.”  
  
I shake my head at him and walk out of the room.  
  
I may not remember my real father, but I remember my mother well enough. Dread in the pit of my stomach, the thumping of my heartbeat blocking all sounds around me. Haven’t seen her since the nineteenth century, her face is a vague blur, but the intense feelings she evokes are as strong as I remember them to be.  
  
Unsure fingers clasp the phone, and fear of impending doom takes over as the phone touches my ear. “Hello?”  
  
“William darling, how are you doing?”  
  
Coldness tempers my soul, and my tight grip on the phone loosens. “I’m doing all right.”  
  
“No, really, your father tells me you have been experiencing some changes.”  
  
Her voice, her tone, honeyed and penetrating, but doesn’t arouse memories or feelings. That’s not my mother’s voice. Years might have passed, but I still remember the croaky edge of her voice troubled by constant coughing, and the quiet affection that drips when she sings…  
  
“William, are you still there?”  
  
“Um, yes.”  
  
“Did you get a backlash from your father?” her voice grows stentorian and unpleased. “You know how he gets sometimes.”  
  
Anger tightens my chest and flushes my cheeks. “No, I don’t. How does he get?”  
  
“You don’t need to get testy on his behalf.”  
  
Unable to take it anymore, I directly ask, “Mother,” dragged out of my lips, “do you remember that song you used to sing me when I was little?”  
  
“A song?”  
  
“Yes.” Heartbeat stops in anticipation and dread.  
  
“Wheels On the Bus Go Round and Round?”  
  
Ice freezes my insides. As if I lost her for the second time. “Never mind,” I say thickly. “You needn’t worry. I am all right.” I smack the phone down and start towards my room, passing Rupert in the kitchen.  
  
“Everything all right?” he asks, concerned.  
  
The rising steam of his cooking warms the ice within. “You don’t have to beat yourself over the head anymore. I don’t wish her in my life any more than you do.”  
  
He flings his towel on his shoulder, eyebrows creasing. “Did she say something that upset you?”  
  
“It’s all right. I just… need to retire.”  
  
His eyebrows fly up. “Retire?”  
  
“Get some rest.” Whatever young people say these days. I’m already bursting with visions of Mother’s fangs, her cruelty which I’ve inflicted on her, tainting everything that was beautiful in our relationship.  
  
Door slammed behind me, I lay down on the bed, trying to distract myself with any thoughts. I glance at the small book under my desk when a thought pops in.  
  
_Who’s Jesse?_  
  
  


 

~*~*~*~


	15. Chapter 15

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I can’t believe you never tried Hubba Bubba Bubble Jugs.” Willow holds up the small container and pours all pink dust into her mouth. She starts chewing on it in heavenly bliss. My disgust wanes with a laugh when she starts coughing.

“Now you do.” I grab a bubblegum container that looks like a pager and break the seal open. “Sorry. Nothing beats regular.” I hold up a perfectly normal gum stick with a wrapper that has ‘SORRY, LINE’S BUSY’ written on it.

Willow, already managed to turn that galling dust into gum and is now blowing tiny bubbles, seizes the container in my hand and runs her thumb on the sixteen other sticks inside. “I like to pretend I got a beeper when I hold one of these bad boys in school.”

Only one in our sad little group who has a pager is Buffy. Rupert believes these vile things lead to drugs, so neither of us has one. I’d rather have a mobile phone instead. Like the one Cordelia flounces about with in school.

Willow spits her gum in a tissue and tosses it in the garbage can next to my bed. She turns her gaze to the rest of the junk she snuck into my room when Rupert wasn’t looking and exhibits her trademark guilty frown. “We need to study a bit of math. I don’t like lying to Giles.”

Only reason Rupert allowed Willow in was for her exceptional tutoring skills. Math isn’t exactly my strong suit.

“Oooh, the William Sonnet Stravaganza!” Her face lights up when she finds the forbidden notebook tucked between the textbooks. Never hide anything in books when dealing with Willow. “Have you written something new?”

“Not really, no.” I steal the book of bloody rhymes and lock it in my drawer out of her reach. Though from her reaction, William clearly let her read his odes to Xander.

I watch her dip a Dorito in the sour cream, engrossed in the way her chin moves as she chews on it. “What?” she asks with her mouth full.

“Do you still think about Jesse?” The lad was only mentioned in that first poem, but was never referenced to again. I haven’t worked out his significance in their lives yet, even Rupert didn’t remember who he was when I casually brought him up at breakfast.

Willow’s face is splashed with deep crimson shame. “Not as of late,” she admits rather difficulty.

“Xander?”

“I don’t know.” She averts her gaze toward our neglected textbooks on the floor, safely removed from the dangers of dipping sauce and chips crumbs. “He… we don’t really bring him up. It also sucks ‘cause he doesn’t have a tombstone to visit or anything. Even his parents left town after he ‘ran away.’”

‘We don’t bring him up.’ By ‘we’ does she mean herself and Xander? It doesn’t sound like William knew their deceased friend well. Rupert let it slip that we have arrived to Sunnydale a few weeks before Buffy, so he was either killed before her arrival or shortly after.

Turned. He was turned. Consistent with William’s sappy poem, Jesse wore the face of the devil and it burst to dust, then he mentions Xander’s guilt. Could Xander have staked his friend? That ought to leave some permanent scars. I should know. I’ve staked my own mother.

“You know; it was really sweet that you got into trouble because you wanted to help Xander.” Willow wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Romantic even.”

That lie I told Rupert! Since when did he turn into a chinwagger? “Rupert told you about the vengeance demon?”

She nods with a wide grin. “Gave us the full scoop.”

She wouldn’t be grinning like that if she knew the truth. They knew about the pendant. They knew I gave it to Xander. They didn’t know I was withholding it in my room for a long time while Xander suffered for weeks.

But Xander did.

“Was Xander there?”

“He looked really pensive.” She shrugs and fetches a Dorito for another dip.

No surprise there. He’d know it was a lie. He was probably wondering why I was summoning a vengeance demon in the first place. Unless he thought I wanted to curse him again.

Willow hands me a Dorito covered in sour cream with an understanding smile. I pop it in and enjoy the cheesy flavor in my mouth.

“Speaking of scoops, any more on our slayer gone rogue?” I wipe a bit of cream from my lips. “Anything Rupes is holding out on me?”

“Bad case of loony-tunes is still the main headline.” She sweeps the Dorito crumbs off the desk and into the tissue she’s holding with her other hand. “Buffy thinks she can be redeemed, but if you ask me, that type only belongs behind bars.”

I raise an eyebrow in her direction. “You really don’t like her.”

“After everything she did?” She takes the tissue filled with crumbs and walks over to the garbage can. Her body stiffens after she drops the garbage in the can and jerks her fear stricken face in my direction. “Giles is coming!” she hisses, rushing back to relieve the desk from all the junk food.

I grab the math books from the floor and drop them on the desk. I glare draggers at her when she stuffs the Doritos and dips in my drawer. She gives a helpless shrug.

The door clicks open.

We crack open the books, each a different page, and Willow blurts out, “Okay, which trig function is negative in the second quadrant?”

My gaze skims through the diagrams drawn in my page. “Um, an ellipse?”

“Would you two care for some pie?” Rupert stands by the door, a hand on the knob and his head rests against the frame.

“No, thanks, Giles.” She tries to hold in a burp. Too much dip for that one.

He smiles knowingly, his gaze on the crunched Dorito on the floor. “Go on with your studies then.”

After he closes the door, Willow furrows her eyebrows at me. “An ellipse? You’re even worse than Xander.”

I snap the book shut and lean back against my chair. “And how is Mr. King of the World? Still can’t believe Faith buggered _him_. I mean, really.”

She smiles empathetically. “Is that jealousy I’m hearing?”

I scoff. “Of Xander?”

“Of Faith. It’s me, remember? You don’t have to hide anything.” Her confused stare twitches to a sad one as she empties my drawer. “I did the cry my eyes out in the girls’ bathroom. What was your sad reaction to the news?”

My nostrils flare when I notice some of the dip has stained my notebook of poems. _William’s._ William’s notebook of poems. We are _not_ the same person. And I bloody don’t have a pesky crush on Xander Harris.

“Nothing.” I take the notebook and sniff its stained edge, shuddering at the foul stench.

“Really?” Willow does her wide eyed face, having already finished stacking every piece of junk food neatly on the desk.

I shrug. Since Rupert busted my bum and cancelled my purchase of magic ingredients _and_ chucked out the items in my room – without returning my money, the wanker – I’ve lost the will to pretend. Mostly smaller things. Probably everything soon enough.

“I just feel so… disappointed,” Willow says softly, watching me as I clean the stain on the notebook with a tissue. “I mean, his first time. It should be uber special and with someone special, not that skanky kook.” Her eyes droop down and she heaves a sigh. “Xander will look back on his first time and all he’ll remember was Faith trying to kill him.”

I blink up and refocus on her face. “Wait, what?”

“You know, when she tried to strangle him.”

No, I don’t know. When did that happen? “Again, what?”

She frowns. “Giles didn’t tell you?”

“Clearly not.”

She bends to get the tissue that fell out of my hand. “Xander went to Faith’s motel room to talk to her about what happened…”

“After what Buffy said?” I exclaim, recalling how Buffy laid it out for the boy in the cafeteria. Pointing out, quite harshly, that he was nothing but a big joke to Faith.

“Yeah, but you know Xander…”

Git never listens to reason, always ignores decisions made by the group and acts on his own.

“If it weren’t for Angel, Xander would have been dead,” Willow whispers. “I just can’t process the awfulness of the whole thing.”

Xander thought he had something special with Faith. What did he say? Connection. Finding out that it was nothing in the worst way possible, that’s just…

Heart freezes. “Where is Xander now?”

“He went back home.”

A sick thud of fear slams against me. I chuck the notebook aside and jump to my feet, racing in the room with my eyes on the sodding iron bars covering the window. “I need to see him.”

“But you’re grounded,” Willow reminds me with a swift glance at the door. Rupert is an obstacle, but there’s a way around him. Just need Willow to cooperate.

“Willow…”

My hands grip her shoulders, her skeptical gaze locked with mine.

And that’s when I tell her everything.

 

~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
The Harris household is uncharacteristically silent. The faint sound of Conan O’Brian taking a piss out of some bloke drifts from inside and blocks the chirps of the crickets. Frantic knocks on the door that don’t stop, if his legless folks don’t hear this, I’ll slip in from Xander’s window.  
  
The doorknob is turned. Bloodshot eyes of a weary woman regard me in confusion.  
  
“Hello Mrs. Harris, is Xander home?” I force in a polite William act, desperately hiding the anxiety inside.  
  
The audience’s laughter in the TV floats out as she takes her time staring at him, then recognition lights in her eyes. “William? You haven’t dropped by for months.”  
  
Been here on Christmas eve, but the woman was drunk out of her arse to notice. My serious case of collywobbles intensifies. “Is Xander home?”  
  
She blinks, as if trying to comprehend the question, a gutted frown touches her brow. “Oh, Xander, he… he always sneaks in unannounced.”  
  
I head past her when I realize she’s no use, scanning the chaotic living room for a certain dark haired wazzaock.  
  
“Don’t mind the mess.” The woman fledges next to me with an embarrassed laugh. “I was in the process of cleaning up when you came.”  
  
“So, Xander is in his room?” I already take a step in the direction of the boy’s bedroom when his mother stammers, “Unless he’s in the bathroom. Or with Willow. He’s always hanging out with those girls.”  
  
I turn around, seeing past her tosh. “In other words, you don’t know.”  
  
“He never tells me anything,” she says defensively, wiping her hands together the same way her son does when he’s tense. “Always got more important things to do.” She catches her tone and forces a fake tender smile on her lips. “But it’s just a phase. He’s still my little boy.”  
  
I clamp my jaw closed so I won’t say anything else and turn around to Xander’s room. Dark and empty with nothing but the moon shedding light on the swarming rubbish the boy never bothered to tidy since Christmas.  
  
I hear a hint of a movement coming from another room. I try to open the door. It’s locked.  
  
“Mom?” Xander’s voice, hollow and distant.  
  
“Xander, open the door.” My demand followed by two aggressive knocks.  
  
“What are you doing here?” his voice isn’t its usual irritation, too loaded with exhaustion.  
  
“I said open the bloody door, Xander!” I hit the door with my shoulder, switching to kicking it, then banging on it with my fist. “Open the door!”  
  
Movements, something slides, something is flung away, heavy movements opposing to my intense banging on the wooden barrier standing between us.  
  
The door swings open revealing an irritated Xander, finger-shaped bruises surrounding his throat. I push past him into the decrepit bathroom, gaze examining the Formica that’s peeled from the vanities and the water dripping from the base of the faucet.  
  
“What? What?” Xander throws out his arms in frustration, eyes screaming wrath at the invasion of his privacy.  
  
I grab one of those flailing arms and push his sleeve up, and voila, there they are! A fresh cut surrounded by faded older ones.  
  
“What the hell? Let go, son of a bitch!” He rips his arm out of my grasp, eyes wide with alarm and fury. His outraged rampage booms louder and louder with each defensive step back he takes, “You barge into someone else’s home and get in their business! Maybe that’s what you do in England, but here we don’t…”  
  
His riot is cut short when his mouth slams against my shoulder, his body stiffening as my arms close around him. He doesn’t say a word, stands there in shock, then his muscles relax with a quivering breath. I feel his head drops, breath coming out in shudders, and wetness starts to form on the base of my neck.  
  
Over his shoulder, I witness the edge of a bloodied knife poking out from behind the sink.  


 

 

~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
The dripping of water slows down into a drop each minute on the chipped surface in the sink. Perched on the tile floor and leaning against the tub, my legs growing numb as my hands patch the cut in Xander’s wrist. His eyes ablaze, dotted red and staring ahead, and his hand held out submissively for my attention.  
  
“Gonna talk anytime soon?” I start examining my decent work. Never had to patch someone up in years. As a vampire, I used to lick Dru’s bruises clean and feel her skin healing under my tongue. Not that vampires had curative saliva, we just heal faster than humans, especially with heaps of their blood in our system.  
  
“Like you give a crap,” tone as hollow as the look in his eyes that stared at the faded toothpaste spattered on the mirror.  
  
“I do.”  
  
He turns to look at me, some life in those dead eyes, clearly sensing the sincerity in my voice.  
  
“I don’t get you.”  
  
“I don’t get myself either.” Still sincere with a dash of confusion. I care, quite intensely I admit. William’s humanity taking over, I suppose.  
  
“So fess up.”  
  
He doesn’t. Just stares at me, trying to figure me out. Perhaps seeing little glimpses of his old best friend appearing on the surface.  
  
“When did you start?” I give him a helping nudge and stretch my legs for the blood to flow.  
  
He looks down at his wrapped wrist, breath slipping out ragged and short. “Remember that hypnotizing demon? The Bazaar demon.”  
  
“Bazr demon,” I correct. Memory lane takes me back to a miffed Buffy slicing the demon in four to avenge her bruised slayer ego. Being the only poor soul who fell under its thrall had turned her vicious with rage. It was a sight to see. Willow, Rupert and I praised and cheered. I don’t remember Xander in that circle of applause.  
  
“It grabbed my wrist and its scales bruised them,” he goes on, his thumb caressing the bandage on his wrist. “Which was followed by the regular flinging thing and the flying across the cemetery thing, both not so much with the fun.” An empty smile followed by a loaded sigh. I try to remember when he got hurt, but it doesn’t ring a bell. I don’t remember him at all that night. Could it be he walked home by himself? Did we not notice him missing?  
  
He sucks in his lips and look up at the cracked paintjob in the ceiling with glistening eyes. “Things were… they weren’t good.” His voice breaks and he blinks back tears. “You started to detest the air I breathe, and Willow with her no touching rule, which yeah I understand, I screwed up that one big time. And Buffy and I weren’t, you know, ‘cause of the whole Angel thing. But with Buffy, there was that occasional pat on the shoulder, which was gone, too, because of the curse.”  
  
He wipes the forming dampness in his eyes and takes a long shuddering breath. “It was really… it was like this bubble inside that keeps growing and growing but never popping, you know.”  
  
His eyes droop down and his posture deflates, the finger marks on his throat so glaringly red. Intense hate nurtures in me when I remember Xander at the cafeteria, so sure he meant something to that bitch, so sure they shared something special, so sure he can be of help. Willow was right. He’ll look back at his first time and remember her sodding fingers on his throat choking him to death.  
  
“When that demon cut me, it was really painful, but it was… it was better than feeling nothing. But later when I went back home, the feeling numbed down. I took that knife and made it hurt again.”  
  
He looks at me and suddenly the room starts shrinking and a heavy feeling forms inside. “I get why Buffy and Willow… I get it. But I still don’t understand what happened here. You and me, we were inseparable.” His eyes are pleading, seeking an answer I can’t provide.  
  
“It was what hurt the most,” he whispers, eyes red rimmed and mouth set in a cold hard line.  
  
Ball in my court now, a ball I can’t possibly throw. Should I tell him the truth? Would it really matter now? Any chance to get back to who I was is destroyed when Rupert found out. There’s no way back. Might as well accept it; I’m stuck here. And Xander deserves to know. He deserves to know why his friend cut him loose.  
  
“There you boys are,” Mrs. Harris’ chipper voice startles us both. Her smile is too bright for the dim bathroom. “Why didn’t you tell me William was coming, Xander? I’ve ordered Chinese. How about we watch the late night show and have a nice little meal?”  
  
Xander releases a sigh. “Mom…”  
  
“I’ll have mine in the kitchen,” she quickly proposes. “You two can eat in front of the TV.”  
  
“Mom, it’s not…” He shakes his head and uses his other hand to push himself up. “William is going home.”  
  
“Oh.” She looks at her son with disappointment, then directs her gaze at me. “Your father must have made those English pies then? Xander always talks about them.” The unmasked jealousy drips in every word.  
  
I rise up and smile at her. “Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d like to have dinner here.” Xander whips his head up and stares at me with raised eyebrows.  
  
“I… love Chinese?” I provide awkwardly.  
  
“That’s wonderful.” His mother brightens again, and I’m hit with a wave of rum. “I’ll go set up the table in front of the TV. Don’t worry I won’t be joining you.”  
  
“No, you should…” I say out of false courtesy.  
  
“Xander wants to have dinner with his buddy, don’t you, Xander? I’ll stay out of your way.” She hurries out of the bathroom, knocking something over on her way.  
  
Xander gives me the stink eye. “I don’t need your pity.”  
  
“What are you talking about? I love Chinese.” I brush past him and follow the sound of clanging plates in the kitchen where Xander’s drunken mother attempts to be hospitable.  
  


 

 

~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
Xander is sleeping, the comforting thought that accompanies me home. He can’t harm himself when he’s sleeping. Everything will be all right in the morning. But only for now. Something has to be done about him. Can’t leave him under the care of his wasted parents. His mother didn’t even notice the bandages on his wrist.  
  
I unlock the front door to the flat and release a sigh. Rupert is my only way to help the lad. And ‘my only way to help Xander’ is sitting on his chair directed at the door, arms crossed against his chest, and eyes firmly boring a hole in my head.  
  
Willow is sitting on a stool chair uncomfortably and waves at me. The sleeping in someone else’s bed to fool the father trick never works, but at least it managed to get me out of the flat. “Sorry, Will.” She flicks a concerned glance my way. “How’s Xander?  
  
“He’s all right.” She doesn’t buy it. “Really, I was just being paranoid.”  
  
“So Xander isn’t cutting himself?” she asks, searching in my eyes for the truth.  
  
_“This stays between us,”_ Xander has warned me. _“I don’t want Willow and Buffy fussing over me. I’m fine.”_  
  
I shake my head. “He’s not.”  
  
Willow stares at me long and hard. I try not to flinch.  
  
“I believe you should be heading home, Willow,” Rupert says, smacking his hands on his knees and rising up. “Do be careful though.”  
  
“I always do,” Willow reassures him. One last glance at me before she closes the door behind her.  
  
Rupert takes off his glasses and the lecture is on, “Honestly, William, all that nonsense about Xander and worrying Willow…”  
  
I slip my hand in the giant pocket of my baggy trousers and toss the bloodied knife right at the spot in front of his feet.  
  
Rupert stares down at it, speechless.  
  
“He’s been at it for a month or so,” I explain. “Now I promised him I won’t tell anyone, but I need your help to keep him safe.”  
  
“Xander…” Rupert whispers in complete state of shock.  
  
“I want him to move in temporarily with us until he gets better.” I try to get his attention but his eyes are captivated by the knife. “Rupert? What do you say?”  
  
He blinks as if coming from a fog and puts his glasses on. “What about his parents?”  
  
“Nothing to worry your head about. Just need you on board, what do you say?”  
  
“Of course.” He bends down to take the knife and stares at it. “I can’t believe… how did we not notice?”  
  
“Because he’s good at hiding things.” His heroic stunt during the apocalypse he wasn’t allowed to participate in springs to mind. “But no more.”  
  
Rupert looks at my determined gaze and a proud smile tugs his lips. “You’re a good person, William.”  
  
The heat radiates off my face and my heartbeat picks up speed. I did not anticipate this was going to turn into one of those awkward father-son moments. I give an uneasy shrug and helplessly stare at the door to my room.  
  
Rupert heads to the sink to wash the blood off the knife when my mind indignantly protests, I’m _not_ a good person. I’m bad. I’m… eh, who am I kidding? My big bad days are way behind me, I’m afraid. Bugger.  


 

 

~*~*~*~*~


	16. Chapter 16

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Heavy silence falls upon the empty classroom. Xander’s jaw line twitches as he considers what I just told him. Perched on the teacher’s chair, legs propped on the big desk, his carefree defiance deserts him. His gaze flickers to the white blinds covering the windows, relaxing slightly that our conversation is concealed and buried in the dark room. I watch the light streaming from the blinds, split in half and landing on the floor, while impatiently waiting for Xander to respond.

I found him earlier sitting at the fountain with Willow. She was clearly trying to fish out all the details of what happened last night. If he knew I told her about my suspicions, he would assume it was after I promised him never to tell anyone. He barely trusts me as it is, no point in driving him away even further.

“So let me get this straight,” he finally speaks, venom soaked in every word, “You and your father decided I’m some charity case that you need to rescue, is that right?”

“Basically.”

He rolls his eyes and drops his legs to the floor. “Thanks, but I’m good.” He passes me to the door, turning around to toss a forced reassuring smile. “I won’t do it again.”

“Easier said than done.” I observe his hand tensing on the doorknob. I walk over towards him, gently removing his hand and pressing myself against the door to block his exit. “I’m not going to pretend I understand this. I’ve never been in your shoes before. But I’ll do whatever it takes so you won’t end up dead.”

He stares at me. Confusion written all over his face, trying to make sense of all of this. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you care?” He starts back to the teacher’s desk, not looking at me. “You made it perfectly clear that I’m scum, not worth your time.”

His hands clutch the desk in a white-knuckled grip. Shoulders tense, he looks like he’s waiting for a new blow.

“I don’t want you dead, Xander,” I whisper.

His head hangs, but he doesn’t move. My eyes drift to the whitewashed walls, realizing that Mr. Wallace’s classroom is as dull as he is.

Xander turns around, relenting in defeat. “I guess, it won’t be so bad.” He points a finger. “As long as Giles is cooking.”

“Oh, he’s definitely cooking.”

He pushes himself up and sits on the desk, his lanky legs dangling motionlessly.

In an attempt to avert yet another moment of awkward silence, I inch forward and ask, “So, what are we going to tell your parents?”

He gives a careless shrug, legs starting to swing back and forth. “Sleepover?”

“It’s not,” I object firmly. “Not just for one night.”

“Will, this isn’t the first time I stayed at your house for a long time. Remember when I spent the entire summer with you guys?” His legs freeze in place; a dubious frown takes over his face. “William, if you’re doing this to pay me back…”

“What are you waffling about?”

“You know, for playing nurse last summer. After the whole Angel kidnap-torture thing.” There was a long poem in William’s notebook about the sacrifices and generosity of heroic Alexander Harris who nursed him and his father back to health after Angel did a number on both of them.

I tilt my head, finally having him where I want him. “And why did you do that?”

He arches his eyebrows. “Doesn’t need an answer.”

“And neither does this.”

His stressed face dissolves into a reluctant smile. The smile grows more reluctant until it disappears into a frown. “What are we going to tell Willow and Buffy?”

Willow already has an idea about what’s going on, and if he knows this, he’ll throw a wobbler. “We all know about your rat arsed folks…”

He nods, not happy with this answer, but clearly it’s better than telling the truth. I head back to the door, better piss off now before he gets stroppy.

“So, we’ll swing by your house on the way home and get your things.” I open the door, welcoming the flooding light and the noise of wandering pupils that emerge in. “Better clear off. Math test is a period away.”

Xander whistles, slipping to the floor. “I’m gonna blow that one. Math is the equivalent of a foreign language when it comes to me.”

“Why didn’t you ask Willow to help you out?” We trudge through the crowded hall. Kids are scurrying about and chatting among each other.

“Willow and I don’t study together anymore.” He’s looking straight ahead, the muscles in his face limp and motionless.

“Because of Oz?”

“No, don’t you remember? You and Willow putting dibs on which idiot to tutor. Buffy got Willow and I got you.” The bittersweet grin doesn’t hide the pain in his eyes. “And the Oz thing, too.”

He explained it all last night. The loneliness is nothing but the consequences of him cocking everything up. He brought it all on himself. He knows it, everybody does, but the lad has suffered enough. He’s… he’s not that bad.

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
“You’re gonna abide at the Giles residence?” Buffy pops a black olive into her mouth, then spits out the seed. “I hear it’s extra bookwormy this time of year.”  
  
We tell the girls about it during lunch. Buffy, still on her healthy diet, accepts the news with ease and quips of humor. Willow, though, hasn’t touched her food and is too busy looking fagged.  
  
“Yeah, that’s what I need during examination season.” Xander grimaces down at the green goo he picked up from the cafeteria bar, instantly regretting choosing to try this rubbish. He smiles sheepishly at Buffy. “It’s getting too noisy at home.”  
  
She nods sympathetically. “I hear ya. I think it’s nice of Giles to do that.”  
  
“Hey, I bring some action into their dull lives. It’s me doing them a favor.”  
  
Willow indicates with her head at the door for a sidebar. Should clear things up with her before she rabbits on to Xander.  
  
Outside the cafeteria, she crosses her arms with a cheesed off glare that doesn’t match her fluffy pink sweater. “What’s wrong with Xander?”  
  
“You heard him.” I lean back against the lockers behind me and notice her face reddening at my answer.  
  
“Tell me the truth, or it’s you versus my resolve face.” She steps up to me, her green eyes blazing with a challenging threat.  
  
I stare up at the ceiling and sigh. No use of hiding it, she’s going to drag the truth out eventually. “I promised him not to tell anyone.”  
  
Lower lip flutters in shock. “So, it’s true. He’s…”  
  
“Don’t tell him I told you. He’s already upset I told Rupert,” I interrupt her, glancing inside the cafeteria at Xander and Buffy chatting away, unaware.  
  
“Why won’t he tell me?” Her voice cracks with pain and frustration. “He never talks to me anymore. First Faith and now this? We used to tell each other everything.”  
  
“And then you stopped,” I say pointedly. The girl did tell Xander that she needed a time out to focus on Wolf Boy, so she doesn’t get to act mad and shocked ‘cause the boy followed through.  
  
She takes a step back looking like she was just slapped. “Well, that’s…”  
  
The cafeteria doors swing open, a boy slips out, eying them with mild interest while treading off.  
  
With a head tilt, I catch Willow’s wounded gaze with an understanding one. “He didn’t tell me either, remember? I found out on my own,” my voice low and calm, and she makes a wobbling sound.  
  
“What matters is that he gets better, eh?” I push gently, watching her drawing a long shaky breath.  
  
“I know. It still hurts.”  
  
I glance back at the inside of the cafeteria, eyes and ears on red alert in case Xander shows up. It was too difficult for the boy to agree to move in. If he catches me talking about him with Willow, he’ll bite my arm off. “Just don’t throw a spanner in the works. You won’t like _my_ resolve face.”  
  
She touches my arm, her voice sad and pleading, “I wanna help.”  
  
“Maybe ask him if he needs help studying now and then.” With a little shrug, I start heading for the cafeteria door. The rest of my lunch is probably too cold to eat now.  
  
“William?”  
  
I sigh and turn around.  
  
“Can you keep me posted on, you know, everything?”  
  
I give her the nod of a gentleman. Her lips curl up into a sad, accepting smile.  


 

 

~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
Rupert starts the engine and the Citroen roars like an old dog after a bone. I glance at Xander through the rearview mirror, looking uncomfortable and out of place.  
  
“Do you want me to speak with your mother, Xander?” Rupert asks, ripping through the silence before it settles around the car.  
  
“No, it’s better I do it.” Xander squirms in his seat, you’d think he’s sitting on a bed of hot ambers. “She’ll get… she won’t like it if you did it.”  
  
Rupert doesn’t respond, swerving out of the school parking lot and to the main road. Xander falls slightly to the left, then composes himself, legs glued to each other and hands clasping restlessly.  
  
“Giles, uh, thanks.”  
  
“No thanks necessary. I already pulled out the Xander mattress. We haven’t used it for a while.”  
  
“Must have been a relief,” Xander says with a nervous laugh.  
  
“It’s been quiet, rather dull, hasn’t it, William?” Rupert winks at me.  
  
“It sure has.” I wink back and then smirk at Xander through the rearview mirror. His face is the color of Willow’s hair.  


 

 

~*~*~*~


	17. Chapter 17

 

 

  
  
The numbers on the math test make no sense. The tapping of a pencil and the humming and the gum chewing. The clock ticks, half the time almost over. I should write my name. The pencil isn’t sharpened. I can’t find the bloody sharpener.  
  
“May I speak to William?” Rupert at the door in a black trench coat and without his glasses.  
  
“I have a test,” I tell him and try to find a sharpener.  
  
“Buffy, turn down that rubbish!” Rupert exclaims.  
  
Buffy is skipping rope in the library. I try to hear the music, but Larry taps on the paper and tells me to concentrate. I look down at the test. “Xander, this has Willow written all over it.”  
  
I turn to my left. Drusilla is sipping hot chocolate and seizing a marshmallow from a flowery plate.  
  
“I thought Xander was here,” I muse.  
  
“Who’s Drusilla?” Faith asks, spreading Xander on the library counter and locking lips with him.  
  
“What are you doing?” I snap at her. “Stop!”  
  
Xander is choking and Faith keeps kissing him. I turn my gaze to Buffy doing step aerobics. “Stop her!” I try to say, but nothing comes out, and Buffy doesn’t notice. None of them notice.  
  
“Stop, please!” Words locked in my throat, voiceless, and Faith keeps kissing Xander who is dangling in her arms now, lifeless.  
  
My breath quickens and I blink at the closed drapes of the window in my dimly lit room. The odd shaped colognes and Avengers action figures on top of the drawers’ chest dissolve the icy tension inside. I peer down at the spot next to my bed on the floor and find Xander sleeping on his mattress.  
  
A sigh of relief leaks out and I lie down in bed, going over the nightmare I just had. Xander has been staying here for days now and it just accrued to my conscious to show him dying in the hands of a lunatic slayer?  
  
Then there’s the guest appearance of Drusilla. I haven’t thought of her in a long time. And that in itself is disconcerting. That’s _Drusilla_. My black goddess. My guide into the world of evil. She’s the reason I’m trapped in this reality as an adolescent boy with unsettling protective feelings for an insignificant human child.  
  
The image of her sipping hot chocolate keeps playing in my mind. She didn’t even glance my way, too absorbed in what she was doing. She must be disappointed in me. I’ve abandoned the mission. Given up. Stopped trying to get back to her. What about Drusilla in this reality? Could I bear it if she didn’t know me? Her dark knight? Her _Spike_.  
  
Xander shifts in his sleep.  
  
I have an English test tomorrow. And a history test two days after that. So much to focus on. So little time to… to think about something else.  
  
  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
“Giles didn’t get upset when I washed my lucky drawers with his shirts, did he?” Xander stands behind me wittering on as I try to remember the combination to open my locker. “’Cause they’re my ticket to ace English, and I was in charge of the laundry anyway, and are you even listening to me?”  
  
I nod absentmindedly. “You’re right.” The numbers remind me of the math test in the dream. Am I losing my mind or they’re not making sense here either?  
  
Xander’s face appears out of nowhere. “I’m right what?”  
  
I jump back. “Huh?”  
  
He hugs his books to his chest and furrows his thick eyebrows. “What up? Been quiet all morning.”  
  
An image of Drusilla and the plate of biscuits flashes before me. I stare at him and he stares back, his expression growing serious with concern.  
  
“Hey, guys.” Buffy struts down the hall, sunglasses firmly placed on top of her head where her golden hair bounces with each step. “I come bearing news.”  
  
Clearly happy for the distraction, Xander grins at her. “Good or bad?”  
  
“Depends.” She presents him with two large envelopes. Xander’s face loses the grin, and he barely reaches for the envelopes, looking at them as if they’re about to tell him he got a fateful disease.  
  
“What are those?” I ask.  
  
“Admission packets to the colleges _you_ forced me to apply to.” Xander’s accusatory tone thaws to a hopeless one as he shakes the envelopes. “I don’t like it. They’re both too light. Crayon ‘No Way’ papers are rearing their sharp finger-cutting edges.”  
  
Buffy smiles sympathetically. “You won’t know what’s in them until you open them.”  
  
He slams the envelopes against my chest.  
  
“Oi, what’s that for?”  
  
“You open them. It was your idea!” He rushes to hide his larger body behind Buffy’s petite one.  
  
I look down at the first envelope, ‘Montana State University’, and rip it open.  
  
“Oh God,” I hear Xander mutter as I read the acceptance paper. “I’ve already been rejected to every college I applied to. I’m all rejected out.”  
  
“What do you know? Maybe this is your shot.” Buffy turns back to me hopefully.  
  
I shake my head.  
  
She quickly pats an unaware Xander on the shoulder. “Maybe the next one is your shot.”  
  
Xander’s upset gaze shoots up. “The next one? See? Nothing but rejection.”  
  
I open the second envelope while Buffy tries to calm Xander down as he rambles about his future in pizza delivery. _Dear Alexander Harris, we are pleased to inform you…_  
  
“We’ve got a winner!” I exclaim, waving the paper in Xander’s face.  
  
Xander blinks at the paper, his eyes widening with shock. “I got in?” He snatches it out of my hands, his eyes flick from right to left, taking in the paper’s content. “I got in!” He grabs Buffy and spins her around. Then smacks my shoulder and shows me the paper. “ _This_ right here is the proof that I do not deserve my stupidity rep.”  
  
Buffy tries to peer at the paper. “Where did you get in?”  
  
He points at the name in the paper, and declares for those who can’t read, “Weber State University.”  
  
Buffy’s face falls. “Oh. That’s in Utah.”  
  
“Um, yeah.” Xander loses his smile and bites on his lip.  
  
I look between the two in bewilderment. “Why the sudden long faces? Thought we were happy for Harris.”  
  
“We are,” Buffy reassures with a guilty glance at Xander. “It just… hit me that we won’t be together next year.”  
  
“That’s life. People grow apart after high school. They lose touch.” My words of wisdom seem to make her feel worse.  
  
“I don’t wanna start over,” she mumbles in a low voice. Something tugs inside. Must be hard to form friendships when you’re the Slayer. Buffy is a lucky one to have landed a bunch of friends, who not only are okay with who she is, but also chip in every time there’s a crisis.  
  
Xander squeezes her shoulder with a huge grin. “Hey, that won’t happen if we don’t graduate. How about we pull an Oz and repeat Senior year?”  
  
Buffy smiles up at him. “Well, there’s good chance this may happen to me.” Her nose wrinkles. “History test is coming up.”  
  
“Do you think Willow taped Biography?” Xander asks, referring to the documentary series.  
  
“Of course she did. She’s Old Reliable.”  
  
  
  


~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
Houses, cars, children on bicycles all fleeting by the way my day went. I rest my head against the window’s glass, feeling troubled and uncertain. I don’t remember much of what happened at school. There was the English test, chemistry lab, and my mind wandered in math class. I was lost in the numbers, didn’t make sense there either. The teacher wasn’t pleased.  
  
Then what happened in between classes; Xander getting into a uni, that twit Dan tripping me to the floor, and Willow storming off with a banana. I remember nothing else.  
  
“How was your English test?” I hear Rupert’s question. I can’t bring myself to answer.  
  
“William?”  
  
I heave a sigh. “It was brill.”  
  
He regards me with that fatherly concerned stare, which causes a heavy weight in my chest. The way he cares throttles me, and suddenly I feel really tired.  
  
He doesn’t comment on my tone, not when we have company in the car. He glances at the back seat. “Xander, I trust you did well after you violated the sanctity of my shirts.”  
  
“The questions were easy, but the answers weren’t.”  
  
“You mean your lucky underwear fell short?” Rupert grits out.  
  
“Not exactly. I nearly got a 100. I was just a digit out; I averaged 10.”  
  
Rupert’s knuckles tighten on the car wheel. “I’m going to stop the car, and you have five seconds to clear out.”  
  
Xander’s laugh is contagious; I look back at him sprawled in the backseat, his rucksack resting on his stomach. “Giles, I just spouted every test joke known in history. You’re so uneducated. You gotta be proud I fitted them all in.”  
  
“Oh, if only you could memorize the test material as well as those jokes, then we’ll talk proud.”  
  
I chuckle at Rupert’s dry retort, finding my spirits at last. “Well, you have to be. He got into Weber State Uni.”  
  
“An eleven hours’ drive away from here?” Rupert glances at me. “Finally, some good news.”  
  
Xander’s head sticks out between us. “More news of the good; I’m having French fries for dinner at the Bronze with Willow and Buffy tonight, so don’t wait up for me.”  
  
“That does put a smile on my face.”  
  
Xander pats a grinning Rupert on the shoulder with a laugh. I watch them, immersed by the spontaneity, completely at ease with each other, and it’s bloody attractive. Knowing there will be more of that easy going bantering, in other rides to school, at the dinner table, and my heart beats faster.  
  
Rupert notices my intense stare and smiles apologetically. “Sorry, William, you still have one last night.”  
  
I realize what’s he talking about, and pretend to be miffed. “Aren’t you tired of having me fuss about in that tiny flat?”  
  
“It’s excruciating. But the books say it’s good parenting.”  
  
I can tell by that glint in his eye that doesn’t mind having me at home. I don’t mind either. And that thought puts a stumper on my mood for the rest of the drive.  
  
  
  


~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
These William poems are informative. Without Drusilla and I in in the picture, Angel ran his destructive operation solo and from his flat. It doesn’t look like he moved into the factory, and the aftermath of killing the teacher was a bit messier. The police were involved and Rupert spent a night in jail, my ‘mother’ was contacted, and she threatened to fight for my custody if Rupert didn’t straighten out. William sounds quite scared in this one, ‘crying his soul to sleep’ and ‘coldness reaching his heart’, his fear of losing Rupert is poignant and reflected clearly in his words.  
  
That was probably the only poem about Rupert, most of these are descriptive tales to the adventures of one brave Xander Harris. An earlier one describes Xander’s quest to save the damsel Cordelia from the clutches of a monster with a face of an angel – very original, William. It ends in heartbreak; William and Willow bursting into Angel’s flat to save the boy of their dreams only to find him in the arms of _that_ stuck up hussy.  
  
The door suddenly bolts open. I shut the notebook and grab that Harry Potter book I never bothered to read.  
  
“Hey, bud!” Xander walks in, leaving the door open, and flings himself on my bed. The elusive dinner smell starts to amble, and Xander noisily inhales it in. “Glad I came back before dinner time.”  
  
“You’re early,” I comment, glancing at the notebook, knowing that he’ll notice it if I try to hide it now.  
  
“Willow was in the worst of moods,” he whines, pushing himself up on his elbows. “It’s like anything we say sets her off.”  
  
“Is it that time of the month?”  
  
“That’s not it. It’s the whole Old Reliable thing.”  
  
Willow had a hissy fest in school about this. Poor little lamb can’t catch a break. From the midget school principal to the jock wanker to Rupert in the library and then her chums. “Nobody likes being taken advantage of.”  
  
“We don’t take advantage of Willow.” My eyebrow goes up. Xander bites his lip. “Well, not intentionally.”  
  
“Everybody takes advantage of her. She’s smart. She’s sweet. She has a problem saying no and now she’s rattled.” I place the book on the desk and walk towards the door, closing it gently.  
  
“I feel like a giant ass,” Xander declares, recognizing the truth now that his mind isn’t consumed with the inviting smell of Rupert’s special bubble and squeak. He sits up straight with a pleading frown. “Can we change the subject to something that doesn’t fill me with guilt?”  
  
I stuff a hand into the pocket of his rucksack and toss him a college brochure. “Like getting into Weber?”  
  
The brochure hits his chest then lands at his feet. “Not exactly,” he says with a grimace.  
  
“What? That’s good news.” I sit next to him, leaning over to take the brochure and then handing it to him.  
  
He stares at it but doesn’t take it. I start waving it in his face. He grabs it and tosses it away. “I’m not going to college, Will.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“There are so many factors.”  
  
“Like?”  
  
He gets up and walks toward the drawers’ chest, seizing the framed picture of him, Willow, Buffy and I. He traces a finger on it, staring at one of the faces pensively.  
  
“Buffy,” he says, his eyes still on her face in the picture. “Willow is going to Harvard or Yale. You’re going to Oxford _and_ taking Giles with you. Who else will be around to help her out with the vamp stuff?”  
  
“Wesley.”  
  
The scowl he gives speaks volumes. “You’ve gotta be kidding.”  
  
“I’m not.” I head towards him and take the picture off his hand, putting it back in its place. These children still have nothing but contempt towards the new watcher. It is out of loyalty for Rupert, but obviously they noticed Rupert’s constant lecturing and training so that Wesley would be able to take things over when we leave for England. Buffy would benefit from trying to get along with Wesley now before every single Scooby leaves her side for their future.  
  
I watch him standing before the few boxes that contained his clothes. He was too eager to empty the ones with his comic book collection but always managed to neglect unpacking his clothes.  
  
“Why should you take one for the team? Don’t base your future on someone else’s happiness.”  
  
“There’s also the money,” he explains. “On account of not having it.”  
  
“Don’t you have a college fund?”  
  
He shrugs. “I don’t think I ever had one, and if I did, it was most probably spent on booze.”  
  
He wanders towards my desk, his hand going for the notebook – my heart almost stops – but he takes the Harry Potter novel instead. Silence takes over, him flipping through the pages, me trying to remember where the conversation stopped.  
  
“I… have no words,” I finally say, recalling the time I met the boy’s clumsy mother. When Xander and I were moving his boxes out of the house, his folks didn’t seem to notice. They didn’t even react to Xander’s offhand ‘I’m moving in with William.’ Lost in their own glass, watching whatever came along on TV. Those sad, miserable lot.  
  
“That’s okay. I don’t think I’m college material anyway.” He sits on my chair, glancing at the cover of the book before he looks at me with an ear to ear grin. “At least I got into college, right? Not stupid. I’ve also been thinking about taking one of those road trips they do after high school? So something to look forward to. Also, not a virgin anymore. Big plus.”  
  
His expression becomes serious all of a sudden. “Speaking of sex, it’s all I think about. I mean, it was good with Faith. The first time, not the one with her fingers on my throat. But… something was missing. It went by fast, you know.” He leans forward and looks right into my eyes. “Shouldn’t it be… longer?”  
  
I stifle a laugh. “It was your first time. Your soldiers couldn’t wait to… ambush.”  
  
“Still, she didn’t even wanna coddle.”  
  
I burst out laughing. “You and coddling, Harris. So, your first time didn’t go well, you’ll have other times.”  
  
“When?” he asks impatiently.  
  
“When a girl is desperate enough to bugger you silly.”  
  
“And where do you find those desperate girls?”  
  
I give him a light punch on the shoulder. “Change your clothes and eat something. You’re worse than Dru.”  
  
His eyebrows furrow. “Who’s this Dru you keep bringing up?”  
  
Bollocks. I try to remain calm, walking around him aimlessly. “When did I bring her up?”  
  
“That day when you pranked Giles into grounding you. Then again in the library.” His eyes widen and he holds up a finger. “Was she your girlfriend before you came out?”  
  
I stare at him, the embarrassing notebook safely hidden behind my back. “Yes.”  
  
His eyes glisten with interest. “Did you sleep with her?”  
  
“As a matter of fact, yes.”  
  
“What was it like?” He looks like an eager puppy scenting a treat.  
  
Head tilt. Smug smirk. “Let’s just say I know how to keep a lady satisfied.”  
  
“How?”  
  
I snatch the Harry Potter book and swat him with it. “Change.”  
  
Outside, I can easily hear the bubbling and squeaking in the kitchen. Rupert’s cooking towel is draped over his shoulder as usual, and he bends to taste the chicken soup. I instinctively start setting the table, able to tell that dinner is about to be ready.  
  
“How’s Xander?”  
  
I scoff. “A confused mess.”  
  
“Why? Did something happen?” He appears extremely concerned. I realize what he was referring to instantly. “I put the knives back in the drawer. Did he do…”  
  
“Oh, no.” I shake my head, remembering early in the morning when we were making sandwiches the look on Xander’s face when he saw the knives. “He was surprised. But nothing happened.”  
  
Rupert wipes his forehead with his towel, glancing at the direction of my bedroom. “We still have to keep an eye on him. These urges don’t wear off in the span of few days.”  
  
“I know.” I don’t tell him that I caught Xander with scissors in the school’s bathroom. I don’t tell him about the way Xander stares at the sharp edge of a stake he just sharpened.  
  
“I talked to the school’s counselor today.”  
  
_That’s_ why I don’t tell him. “Rupert, you know Xander doesn’t want anyone to know.”  
  
“She thinks Xander should see a professional therapist.”  
  
“No,” I hiss, hoping Xander doesn’t hear this conversation.  
  
“William, I understand your loyalty to your friend’s wishes.” He turns his attention back to his cooking. “Xander’s problem could be a long-lasting one and it requires professional help. We are not equipped to deal with a situation like this.”  
  
I know he’s right. However, I don’t think Xander would understand us betraying his trust like this. The last thing I want is to see that look on Xander’s face when I gave him the vengeance demon’s pendant on his birthday. The burning anger in his eyes, the hurt in his voice. I can never bear it.  
  
Rupert starts inverting the bubble and squeak into the skillet’s lid, then slides it back to cook the other side. I begin placing the plates on the kitchen counter, wondering how Rupert is going to break the news to Xander. I wish he’ll leave me out of it.  
  
“Dinner is ready. Go and get Xander.”  
  
It’ll be easier if I pretended to be as gutted as he would once Rupert brings up the therapist. Take his side and vent along, but at the same time not dismiss it as a bad idea. Rupert can take the heat and I’ll still look good.  
  
I push the door to my room open and find Xander reading my notebook.  
  
“What the hell are you doing?” Upset and furious, I steal it from his hands and glare daggers at him. “Who gave you permission to read that?” For someone who doesn’t like anyone middling in his affairs, he sure doesn’t mind doing it to others.  
  
Xander appears like he’s about to throw a wobbly. He jumps to his feet, eyes wide with alarm, mouth opening and closing in utter shock. “Okay, William… I just read a whole poem about my eyes.”  
  
I stand frozen, the notebook in my hand about to slip to the floor.  
  
Xander’s expressive face shows a rollercoaster of emotions as his mind clearly runs over different explanations. He snaps a finger at me, an invisible bulb lights up above his head. “Was that… oh, did you…” A frown takes place and he drops his finger. “No, I guess not.”  
  
“Harris, you’re not making sense,” I snap, feeling a variety of emotions myself. Embarrassment and anxiety high on that list.  
  
“I figured this is why you stopped wanting to hang out, but then I remembered one of those earlier drafts ‘Ampata: The Rotten Biscata.’”  
  
I hide my face behind the notebook. “Bloody hell.”  
  
He holds up his hands, looking at me warily. “Look, if me being here makes you uncomfortable…”  
  
I shake my head. “No, it’s…”  
  
“Because it’s making _me_ uncomfortable.” He’s about to burst, absolutely freaked out.  
  
I force myself to calm down. I place the sodding notebook on the desk and wear a bored scowl on my face. “Relax. I’m completely over you.”  
  
“Really?” The hopeful gleam in his eyes quickly vanishes. “’Cause the last one was all about setting Larry free because he wasn’t me.”  
  
Chest boiling with anger. “How many of these sodding travesty have you read?”  
  
“Mostly titles. I liked that one about me and Cordelia, ‘Straight as a dart, dating a first class tart.’” He snorts a laugh, an anxious laugh, his back glued to the wall far away from me.  
  
If only the earth splits and swallows me _now_. He seems to be noticing my distress, the scared wide eyes smoothing into a look of nervous concern. He clears his throat and drags his feet towards me, his hand timidly patting my shoulder.  
  
“It’s okay,” he says in an almost convincing tone. “I’m calm. Calm is me.” He holds up his hands with a toothy grin. “See?”  
  
“I should burn this.” I toss the notebook at the garbage can. It hits the rim and lands next to it.  
  
“I really hope you don’t,” he says with a mischievous grin. “I mean I didn’t know that my eyes graduated from green tea leaves to dying fields.”  
  
I push his cackling arse away and he ends up bouncing on my bed, lost in a fit of laugher.  
  
“That was a bad one.” Actually, that poem has the best imagery I’ve ever read.  
  
He sits up, wiping the tears in his eyes. “I really need to process this. First Willow, then you, then Cordelia. Hey, do you think Buffy…”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Oh.” His hope crushed to pieces. I feel better all of a sudden.  
  
“I really hope this doesn’t get over your head. You’re not all that, you know.”  
  
His bushy eyebrows wiggle. “My shimmery eyes beg to differ.”  
  
“Piss off, Harris.”  
  
His grin dims down to a somber smile. “I liked that first one. About Jesse.”  
  
I stare at the bittersweet glimmer in his eyes, my overwhelming emotions settling down at last. “Yeah?”  
  
He nods mutely, directing his gaze to the floor.  
  
I settle down next to him, clasping my hands. “Do you ever think about him?”  
  
He sighs. “Sometimes. A lot when Angel got his soul back.” He shakes his head and stares up at the ceiling. “It’s not fair.”  
  
I remember the disdain in my mother’s healthy features, hear the ridicule in her voice, the disgust. The hurt and distress I felt back then reflected on Xander’s face, not fresh and strong as it once was, but diminished over the years.  
  
“Giles told me…” he starts, gaze on the notebook next to the garbage can.  
  
“What?”  
  
“He said when a person is turned into a vampire, they’re completely gone.” His eyes on me now are filled with deep sadness. “Jesse still went after Cordelia. Angel still went after Buffy. It doesn’t make sense.”  
  
“Rupert was wrong,” I say from experience. Being turned into a vampire changed a lot of things, but me, the essence of my personality… I still wrote poems, still wanted my mother to live long, to be well and healthy.  
  
“Makes you wonder what it’s like to be a vampire.” He crosses his arms behind his head and falls back on the bed. He rolls his eyes when he notices my look. “I’m not _that_ insane.”  
  
Just making sure. My talk with Rupert still fresh in my ears.  
  
“Didn’t you ever imagine how it’s like?”  
  
I don’t need to imagine. I know what it’s like. Smelling humans’ fear, hearing the rush of their blood and thumping of their hearts, yearning for the taste of their blood, to suck my fangs into their flesh and drink that…  
  
My stomach recoils when I remember that revolting taste, how I used to lick the remaining of it off my fingers.  
  
Xander sits up suddenly, his face so close to mine that his breath touches my skin. “So,” in a voice loaded with masculinity, “you’re really over me?”  
  
I swat him with my pillow. “Like shite down the toilet. And flushed.”  
  
He laughs. “Dude, I kid.” He wipes an invisible tear. “But you hurt.”  
  
“Get bent.”  
  
A charming wink. “You’d like that.”  
  
“I swear, Harris…”  
  
“I kid again.” He pats my shoulder. “I’m glad it’s over. ‘Cause this whole thing will be weird.”  
  
“Yeah. Weird,” I mumble in discomfort.  
  
He heads for the door. “C’mon, let’s feast.”  
  
“I’ll be right with you.” I press on the pillow in my lap, hiding the tent that formed there.  
  
Drusilla pops up in my head, in the library drinking and eating, didn’t even look at me. She knew. She knew I was far gone.  
  
Xander left the door open again, letting the delicious aroma waft in with the intriguing banter between Xander and Rupert. Natural. Attractive. Troubled with a squeeze on my heart, I feel a strong yearning for _this_. I don’t belong here, not the man’s son, not the boy in love with his friend, but here I am. Took his life away from him, living it to the fullest, and I desperately want it.  
  
  


~*~*~*~


	18. Chapter 18

 

 

 

  
  
The air is drenched with excitement because Manchester United are playing Chelsea tonight.  
  
It’s FA Cup replay match! Rupert displays his enthusiasm with two stacks of beer.  
  
“Beer?” I stare at the couple of six-packs and then at the man rushing back to the living room with a plate of hot dog sandwiches.  
  
“This one does call for extreme measures.” Rupert parks his bum on the couch and wipes the mustard off of his United shirt. “Last match was an utter disappointment.”  
  
United drew a sodding nil-nil with Chelsea in the FA Cup quarter-final at Old Trafford. “Too bad about Dennis Viollet.” Last game kicked off just hours after the man’s death was announced. Cancer is a bitch.  
  
“The news of his death couldn’t have come at a worse time,” he mutters dryly. Off my look, he quickly amends, “May his soul rest in peace.”  
  
“He was a real corker.” His finest match was broadcast on the telly back in the fifties. Dru and I had fed on a rich family who owned a television set the night before the match. We spent the entire day cheering Man U. Viollet had scored four goals there, and Dru insisted on meeting him. I didn’t want that to happen because I knew she was going to suck him dry. We ended up meeting the man and his family in the early nineties.  
  
“His daughter Rachel was a right little sort,” I muse with a nostalgic air.  
  
“What?” Rupert frowns at me, raising the volume up for the lineup.  
  
“Tennis player. She’s a fine tennis player.” He’s still looks at a loss. “I need the loo.”  
  
In the bathroom, I’m stopped in my tracks by the sight of Xander smearing his hair with gel. The dipstick is using _my_ hair gel, though to be fair, it’s the only one in the flat. Laughter explodes out of my mouth, eying his pathetic Clark Gable hairdo.  
  
He plants his hands on his hips, pursing his lips in irritation. “So I take it, you don’t like it.”  
  
“Frankly, my dear, you look like an arsehole” – I wipe the tears off my eyes – “What in sodding hell are you doing?”  
  
“Not sticking around during “footy” time. Learned that lesson.” He starts washing his hands, having a gander at his slick hair, not sure why it evoked laughter. “Just thought I’d look cool cruising for chicks at the Bronze tonight.”  
  
“Not with your hair looking like it hasn’t been washed.” I open the tub and scowl at what’s left inside. “Here’s a tip; don’t use it all at once.” I eye his helmet head critically. “Let’s see if I can salvage this mess.”  
  
I pull him down a bit and run my fingers through the thick locks of gel. It isn’t dry yet. He parted his hair right above the temple – that has got to go.  
  
Xander heaves a disenchanted sigh. “When did you start being so suave? I was the cool one before, you know.”  
  
I grab a comb and start fixing what can be fixed. “Harris, a cool bloke doesn’t call himself cool.”  
  
“C’mon, I’m taller,” – he points at his bending knees – “My face was always acne-free. And between us both, I’m the lady killer. Hence, cool one.”  
  
I resume combing his greasy hair back. “Lady killer?”  
  
“I got Cordelia. Who did you get?”  
  
“Let’s clear up one thing here; if I wasn’t bent as a nine-bob note, every bird on campus and their mother would be worshipping the ground I walk on.”  
  
“Right.” He grabs the sink to steady himself. “I bet you could never get Buffy to notice you.”  
  
“Please, she’d be the first one in line.”  
  
“In your dreams.”  
  
“There.” I take a step back and nod at a mess well saved. “Go knock them dead, tiger.”  
  
“You too.” He grins at his reflection in the mirror. “Chuck up that beer, clap and yell, “Hut, Hut, Hike!””  
  
I stare at him. “Never talk sports, Xander.”  
  
He grins sheepishly. “That was something Dad used to say. Guess it doesn’t work with soccer.”  
  
“Football,” I correct determinedly.  
  
“Yeah, whatever.”  
  
  
  


~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
  
My spirits are high and I’m bloody chuffed. Man U won the match! We’re celebrating in the Bronze, or at least I am. Those bleeding Scoobies couldn’t care less.  
  
The Bronze is packed because a ‘hot band’ as Buffy puts it is playing tonight. Children getting their swerve on the dance floor, moving with the beat, all hot and heavy. Willow and Oz march up to our table with heavy breaths after what seems to be an hour of dancing.  
  
“Watch out you two,” Buffy comments at the couple trying to catch their breaths, “One more dance and the Bronze will be bursting into flames.”  
  
“Think we’ve exhausted our fun dosage for tonight.” Willow looks at us in confusion. “Why aren’t you guys boogying?”  
  
“I’m waiting for Angel.” Buffy leans forwards to take a sip from her fizzy drink. “He said he’ll be here.”  
  
Willow attempts to smirk, but it comes out like a quirked beam. “You and Angel are getting steamy again?”  
  
Buffy shakes her head in alarm. “No. No steamy-ness in the works. We’re keeping things on the innocent side.” A dopey grin takes over her face. “He’s taking me to see a movie tomorrow night.”  
  
Willow returns her grin with a bigger one. Xander and I share an unamused look. Oz just looks.  
  
“Hey, you ditched the Nazi hair?” Cordelia approaches our table, looking more glamorous than usual. Willow can take tips from that glossy smirk.  
  
“And I see you’ve out-whored yourself tonight.” Xander looks her up and down in disdain. Her dress is snuggly but not a bit revealing.  
  
She rolls her eyes. “Gee, your creativity doesn’t exceed the whore jokes. A guy with your IQ should have a low voice, too.”  
  
“Guess you haven’t heard, but I did get into a college.” He straightens up in his seat, all smug and important. “A very fine one at that.”  
  
Everyone turns their attention back to Cordelia. The endless battle of wits between these two is our main source of amusement.  
  
“That’s super.” Cordelia’s eyes widen with anything but impressed. “Hope it was on a scholarship ‘cause your mom’s cashier job won’t cover the expenses.”  
  
Xander stares at her, trying to think up a comeback but taking too long. She gives a victory nod and struts away. He sits back with a sigh. “Man, why can’t she leave me alone?”  
  
“Because you were an unfaithful two-timing pillock,” I provide helpfully. Buffy stifles her giggles.  
  
“Yeah, but that was months ago.” He indicates at the snogging love birds at our table. “Oz isn’t throwing cheap shots at Willow.”  
  
“Here’s a wild idea; why don’t you apologize?” Xander scoffs. “Maybe she’ll stop pulling your plonker.” He chooses to gulp his Coke. I look at Buffy, and she shakes her head.  
  
The band starts playing a new song; a ballad this time. High schoolers interlock and sway to the slow rhythm. I spot Willow casting mooneyes at Wolf Boy. He takes her hand and helps her up to her feet.  
  
She stops in her place, eyes on the dance floor. “Oh, guys, check out Larry.”  
  
Clad in head to toe black, Larry is resting his head on another boy’s shoulder. They dip within the beat, bodies moving leisurely against each other.  
  
“His date looks steamy.” Buffy acknowledges in approval.  
  
Willow glances at me with worry. I reassure her with a swift smile.  
  
“Oh, my steamy date is here.” Buffy leaves her seat and heads for the Bronze entrance where Angel stands like a fish out of water.  
  
Willow and Oz have already joined the twirling couples when I notice Xander staring at something on the floor. The glistening blade of a pocket knife under the empty table next to ours. It captures the boy’s penetrating gaze and enthralls him.  
  
Breath caught in my throat, I feel the club settling into immobility and silence. Everything ceases to exist and sounds blur into a constant din.  
  
He gets up. He walks towards it. I hear nothing but my heartbeat drumming in my ears. Don’t put it in your pocket. Don’t put it in your pocket. Rupert had just complimented him this morning. He told me I was right; that Xander didn’t need professional help.  
  
The boy kneels to draw the knife from under the table. Don’t put it in your pocket. Don’t put it in your pocket.  
  
He stares at it, his thumb as if feeling the sharp edge of the blade, and I’m about to do my nut.  
  
“Has anyone lost a pocket knife?” Xander holds it up, eyes search about the club for the owner. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Good boy.  
  
“Thanks, man, that’s mine.” Larry’s lean and charming date runs up to Xander. Buffy’s right. He does look steamy with his sandy blonde mop of hair and ocean blue eyes. If you go for that kind of Nancy.  
  
Larry approaches with a shy shuffle. “Hey, Xander.”  
  
“Hey, man.”  
  
He looks between me and Harris. “I didn’t see you on the dance floor.”  
  
“I’m not in the mood for a solo-groove, which I’m very famous for. Just need to find a hot babe who’ll agree to shake booties all night long.”  
  
“A hot babe?” Larry furrows his eyebrows.  
  
I rush into the scene and drape an arm around Larry’s beefy shoulders, leading him to our table and away from Xander. “Boy hasn’t left the closet.”  
  
“Still?” Larry exclaims in shock.  
  
Shrugging, I take a fleeting look at Sandy now showing Xander the brand of his knife. “So, got yourself a new bo?”  
  
“Yeah.” Larry gazes at the boy as well. “Does it make you jealous?”  
  
I twirl towards him. “What?”  
  
“Tellus,” he modifies. “A Roman goddess. Pete reminds me of… her,” the last word comes out in a painful groan.  
  
I give an understanding head tilt. “He does have a mother Earth quality to him.”  
  
“Okay, then, I’ll just… leave.” Ducking his head in embarrassment, he tries to escape towards his boy.  
  
“Larry,” I call after the poor lad. Of all the people I messed with, he had it worst, and he’s not half bad. “I’m glad to see you happy.”  
  
He gives a broad grin. “Thanks.” His grin softens and his eyes glint in sincerity. “Hope Xander gets the stick out of his ass and realize he’s missing out on something special.”  
  
I have no response to that. Just glance at the numpty in question; an ear to ear beam and spouting some geeky tosh to Larry’s interested boyfriend. It does put a smile on my lips. Face it, Spike, you like the git, warts and all.  
  
  


~*~*~*~


	19. Chapter 19

 

 

  
  
Where the hell did he go?  
  
Striding down the deserted streets of some depraved neighborhood, scanning every corner for a gangling, monkey-eared twit with a death wish. I can’t believe Rupert allowed him to run off on his own like that. He _knows_ the kid is a loose cannon. I shouldn’t have volunteered to look for the basket case slayer in the first place. This is what I get for doing something nice for Buffy. She can’t stand the sight of that chit, not when she seems to be chatting up her humdrum boyfriend, and as a rule I had to be all noble and sacrificing.  
  
If I’d been there, I’d have dragged the wanker by his Dumbo ear to join Oz and the others at the Halls of Records. I know he didn’t want to be saddled up in a van with Cordelia and her new object of interest. Must sting seeing her flirt with the uptight watcher.  
  
A sudden chill sweeps through me when hearing a low growl nearby. I reach for my stake and approach carefully. That’s what I need; being an early vampire snack all thanks to bleeding Harris. I spot a lanky vampire looming over what appears to be an unconscious body.  
  
Of course, it’s Xander! That miserable prick has lost his marbles!  
  
Lanky there turns around and sees me, must have picked up on my quickening heartbeats. He looks between me and Xander, and then flashes his glistening fangs at me. Either Xander is dead or Mr. Fangface wants two fresh supplies of blood for dinner tonight, and Xander isn’t going anywhere.  
  
He strikes. I lurch backwards. He’s too thin. I think I can take him. Except that he’s pinning me to the ground now. Still can’t get a handle of my weak and slow limbs. All that time slacking off in the library, should have put it to good use and had a training or two with Buffy.  
  
He shows off his really white fangs. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I spit on him!  
  
He recoils in disgust and it gives me enough time to pull myself from under him. With a firm grip on my stake, I thrust it right through his heart. I don’t wait for him to burst into dust, instead I scuttle over towards Xander.  
  
His chest rises and falls, so he’s not dead. He’s just sleeping, I realize with a sweltering desire to paste him. We were doing so well. He’s finally at a stage where he can use a knife to cut a Sunday roast without getting that wistful glint in his eyes.  
  
I grab him by the shoulders and start shaking him hard. “Rise and shine, you sad git.”  
  
He stirs awake. “William?”  
  
I catch myself from beating him to a bloody pulp. “How could you do this? After everything we did for you!  
  
He winces, his fingers reaching for his jaw. Eyes squeezed shut. “Slow down. I’m having a case of numbness all over my face.”  
  
I pull him up by the collar and look him down. “You were gonna have a case of dead if I wasn’t here!”  
  
“Dead?” he repeats faintly, wincing some more, then his eyes fly open, “Did you fight Angel?”  
  
“What’s Angel got to do with it?”  
  
“He’s back. In the really bad sense.” He pushes my hands away and tries to sit straight, his hand rubbing his jaw. “You didn’t see him?”  
  
“No.” So, Xander wasn’t trying to have himself killed. _Angel_ did this to him? Angel lost his sodding _soul_?  
  
“Then what were you yelling ab…?” he pauses, anger gusting in his eyes. “You thought I was lying here on purpose?”  
  
I brush my hand over my gelled head bashfully. “I’m sorry. I was too pissed off I didn’t think.” I help him up and notice the anger in his eyes has diminished.  
  
“I’d be really offended if there wasn’t a crisis more important right now. Guess who’s Angel’s new playmate?”  
  
“Faith?” I guess with wide eyes.  
  
He nods.  
  
We stare at each other in alarm then start running back to the school.  
  
  


 

~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
My feelings right now can be summed up by Wesley’s indignant rant.  
  
“Well, I for one protest.” Wesley meets Rupert at the library stairs, face flushed with incensed anger. “You pitted Slayer against Slayer in a dangerous charade that could've gotten them both killed, without informing me!”  
  
_Without informing any of us._ My glare travels from a gloomy Buffy sitting in front of me at the research table to Rupert and his infuriating indifferent stare directed at a brassed off Wesley. The way Buffy couldn’t stand the sight of Faith earlier should have been my clue. Setting up a whole secret scheme to expose Faith as a fraud and kick her off her double-agent routine on Team Good without telling _us_? Did they think we’d blab to Faith? Maybe Wesley would have ratted on them to the council, but the rest of us – the bloody Scooby Gang – deserved better!  
  
“I'm telling the Council!” Wesley confirms my theory on why he was cut out of the decision-making process right on the spot. He proceeds to storm out of the library, when Rupert’s calm voice stops him.  
  
“I think you should.”  
  
Wesley looks at him in confusion.  
  
“We have a rogue Slayer on our hands,” Rupert goes on. “I can't think of anything more dangerous.”  
  
“At least now we know,” Buffy mumbles sadly, staring at her lap.  
  
Rupert gives a shrug, moving to the research table with his glasses dangling from his fingers. He sits on the edge of the table next a cross-legged Willow. “And we know a little bit more about the Ascension.”  
  
“Graduation day. There's a big scary un-fun,” Willow says with a shudder. A dreadful silence takes over the room; the Mayor will be transforming into an embodiment of a pure demon on the day of our high school graduation. Only the Hellmouth can attain such a grand send off.  
  
Willow smiles sympathetically at a silent Buffy. “At least Angel's not bad, though. That's good, right?”  
  
Buffy manages a half-arsed smile in return.  
  
“Yes, I feel so much better knowing that he broke my face in a good way,” Xander retorts, pointing at the area Angel punched. “It's a good bruise.”  
  
“He was only acting, Xander,” Buffy defends the ponce with a hint of annoyance. “It was just an act.”  
  
The muscle in my jaw ticks. “Just a bloody act that could have cost him his life.”  
  
“William?” Buffy whispers, stung.  
  
“Don’t give me those woeful eyes,” I bark, too fed up with her sappy attitude. Who bloody cares that her wanker of a boyfriend tongued another bint? “Do you have any idea what kind of danger your bloody boyfriend put him through?” I catch Xander out of the corner of my eye. That look of disbelieved shock tugs at my heart.  
  
“William, that’s enough!” Right, Rupert, God forbid one of us hurts the delicate feelings of your precious pet slayer.  
  
“Why didn’t you tell us about your plan? Afraid we were gonna muck things up?”  
  
“No.” Buffy shakes her head. “We just thought it’ll be dangerous…”  
  
“Don’t feed me shite about keeping us safe,” I snap at her, satisfied when she flinches. “One of us almost got killed because you kept us in the dark.”  
  
A surge of anger races over me, it’s bad enough we weren’t trusted to be in on their secret plan, but to have them make up excuses about how it was for our on good?  
  
“I almost killed Angel.”  
  
“I stopped you,” she shoots back.  
  
“You could’ve been late. I could’ve killed him.”  
  
“That would never happen. Not on my watch.”  
  
“Hey, guys,” Willow holds up her hands meekly, glancing between me and Buffy, “There’s no point in this. Angel is fine.”  
  
I direct my livid gaze at her. “Tell me you weren’t pissed they didn’t include you.”  
  
“I wasn’t pissed,” Willow objects. “Just slightly offended.” Buffy looks butthurt at that. “But what’s important is that everything worked out in the end, right?” Willow quickly amends. She’s even worse than Rupert in the arts of pampering the slayer.  
  
It’s bloody dogging me off! I can feel the anger and tension coil up another notch. I push my chair back and start for the door.  
  
“Where are you going?” Rupert rushes after me and grabs my arm before I pass Wesley, who is not even close to the door.  
  
“Let go!”  
  
He rolls his eyes. “Oh for God’s sake, William, stop being such a drama queen.”  
  
“Oh, that ship has already sailed.” I try to free my arm. “Now let me storm out!”  
  
“I’ll give you a ride home,” he suggests impatiently.  
  
“Doesn’t really work that way, now does it?”  
  
“Hey, that’s my line. I’ve been quoted.” Willow perks up. Everyone looks at her oddly and then she mumbles, “Guess it’s not the time to be chirpy about that.”  
  
I finally manage to rip my arm out Rupert’s grasp and make my exist. Everything was going so well, was part of a team, considered myself substantial, except I was nothing but an effing sidekick.  
  
I used to run the show, back when it was just me and Dru, was the big shot. I won’t settle for being treated like another _Xander_.  
  
  


 

~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
“William, what are you doing here?” Angel asks in surprise, seated in the middle of the dark among lit candles and recently used shackles. The mansion is dead silent, a striking contrast to the fight show that happened last night.  
  
I glance at the torture instruments scattered on the floor. “So, I take it you’re not evil?”  
  
He looks away. “It was just acting.”  
  
“Right.” That tortured, ‘Look at me I’m suffering’ ploy won’t work on me. “And leaving Xander unconscious on the pavement was part of it.”  
  
He looks confused at first. When it lands, he doesn’t even pretend to look guilty. “I had to do it. Or else Faith wouldn’t have bought it.”  
  
“A vampire almost fed on him.”  
  
That does get his attention. For a mere second. “If I really lost my soul, Xander wouldn’t have lived to see another day.”  
  
“So you knocked him out,” I point out, miffed.  
  
He inhales an impatient breath. “If I didn’t, Faith would have done something worse.”  
  
“You could have at least left him conscious.”  
  
“I had to act fast. There was no time to think of what’s best for his wellbeing.” He does look guilty. Those dull sad eyes reflect that. “I know he’s your friend. It wasn’t in my intentions to have him killed.”  
  
He sounds sincere enough. I don’t push the issue. Instead I look around the mansion, trying to find a trace or a glimpse of something that belonged to me or Dru. It’s the same mansion, but different. Dry and plain. No indication that we were residing here just a year ago. William’s poems revealed how last year played out in this reality, and Dru’s name was never mentioned.  
  
“I admire your courage to come here after…” Angel’s voice trails off with an awkward head scratch. “Your father still hasn’t.”  
  
“I was part of the rescue mission that came bursting in here last night.”  
  
“Yeah, but now you’re here alone.” He does his low key menacing approach unintentionally. He stops; apparently noticing how my heartbeat sped up. “And it’s all for… Xander Harris,” the last words are said in the most revolted tone.  
  
I smile in spite of myself at his congested face. “There’s something else.”  
  
His face smoothes into a look of curiosity.  
  
“Drusilla.”  
  
The name startles him. “How do you know about her?”  
  
“Watcher records,” I lie, examining one of the handcuffs on the table. “So, uh, does she have a companion or is she a loner?”  
  
He doesn’t answer. I look up at him, alarmed. “You weren’t her companion, were you?” I shake my head. “Of course you weren’t. That soul of yours set you apart from all of us.”  
  
“Us?” He lifts up his eyebrows in confusion.  
  
“Where’s Drusilla now?” I chuck the handcuffs and they knock another pair with a clink. “Don’t tell me you don’t keep track of her? She’s on her own. No one there to help. You should know where she is.”  
  
He moves closer, his face suspicious and muddled. “Why are you interested?”  
  
“She fascinates me.” I look away, hiding the fear clouding my face, afraid that he’s on to me.  
  
“I hate to disappoint you, but… Drusilla is gone.”  
  
I spin around, unable to comprehend what I just heard. “Gone?”  
  
“She was killed by an inquisitor in Prague,” his voice low with sorrow and regret. The way he said it, underwhelming, disappointing… should be more grief-stricken, more distressed.  
  
“William?”  
  
Air is sucked out of the room, and I’m stunned and numbed all over. Drusilla is dead. Murdered. Killed. _Gone._  
  
Because I wasn’t there.  
  
She was alone. _Spike_ wasn’t there to rescue her and take her to Sunnydale to be cured. I still remember her in that debilitated and frail condition. She needed me to save her. And I wasn’t _there_.  
  
A heavy lump sticks in my throat, tortures me, but not as much as the growing nausea in my chest.  
  
“Are you okay?” Hanging in Angel’s arms, I just realize I slipped. I don’t slip. I don’t pass out from hearing bad news. I’m not that much of a pathetic poof. I’m… just a bloody human.  
  
“Did you know Drusilla?” Angel asks, his voice thick with curiosity and apprehension.  
  
I don’t answer him. I just run. Just want to escape the mansion, Angel, any reminder of her.  
  
I come crashing against someone, both collapsing on the stairs. Xander’s face greets me with a nervous grin. “Um, hey.”  
  
I push him away and carry on running.  
  


 

~*~*~*~

  
  
  
The door opens with a hushed click. The shadow of a figure expands on the bed.  
  
“You were spying on me,” I accuse Xander with a voice stripped out of emotion.  
  
He turns on the light and sits next to me on the bed. “I was scared you were going to kill Angel on my behalf. You were pretty upset back in the library.” He pats my knee gently. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered. Just don’t wanna be the cause of something that’ll hurt Buffy. Already did my share of that.”  
  
Numb with grief and disbelief, I keep staring at his hand on my knee, silent and unresponsive.  
  
“William, who’s this Drusilla, really?” There’s a hint of incredulity in his voice. “I mean, she was a vampire?”  
  
I’m in a world where Drusilla isn’t around. A world where my non-existence as a vampire cost her her life. I was trying to get her back. Gone through all the trouble of abducting the slayer’s little friends to bring her back to me. Instead I lost her forever.  
  
“I’m trying not to wig out here,” Xander witters on. “One of my friends already did the nasty with a vampire, so it’s not a first, but at least Angel has a soul.”  
  
I blink out of the numbness, turning my head to look at his upset gaze. “You don’t think a vampire without a soul can fall in love?” Disappointment rips through my grief, an un intended insult that tears my human soul in half.  
  
Eye contact not wavering. “I’ve never seen one.”  
  
His face so close, breath on my skin, noses almost touching. I jerk away, snatching my glasses with one hand and wiping the moist off my face with the other. These ridiculous feelings, this growing content with everything, the longing to belong… the familiar and comfortable smell of home… being under someone else’s care, having a group of people who want me around them, who care what I say and what I do…  
  
Not being included in Buffy’s plan hurt. It just tore through all the happiness and satisfaction of every beautiful thing I experienced as… William.  
  
They think I’m someone else and treat me as such. I’m being me, but they don’t know that. None of them know Spike. I want to be Spike. I want to live here as Spike. It’s what’s haunting me for a while. Not being able to live as Spike in a world where he doesn’t exist.  
  
Now Drusilla isn’t here. Can’t see her anymore. Will probably forget what she looks like. Dark hair and eyes, just like Xander’s… they invite you in, fill you with trust, love…  
  
“Xander, there’s something I’ve been hiding… I really need to tell someone…”  
  
“Man, you’re giving me the wiggins. What is it?”  
  
I turn to face him and cross my legs, looking straight into his eyes through my hazy vision. “Don’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you now.”  
  
He imitates me on the spot. “I won’t. I promise.”  
  
I inhale a deep breath, considering this for one last time. It’d be easier… if at least one of them knew.  
  
“William, what’s wrong?” his voice filled with fear and anxiety.  
  
I open my eyes, his worried expression foggy and unclear.  
  
“Here’s the thing, I’m not William.”  
  
  
  
  


 

~*~*~*~*~


	20. Chapter 20

 

 

The utensils clank against the plates and fill in the anger fueled silence taking over the room. I glance from a slouching Xander stuffing his mouth with food to Rupert taking a stiff sip from his glass. The air is throttling with tension, which isn’t really foreign given my history in this reality, but it was never this quiet.   
  
I didn’t know Rupert was back from school until I caught a whiff of roast meat. He didn’t have the heart to make a proper meal since he literally cooked meat and two veg. No words were exchanged since his arrival. It isn’t natural. People yammered constantly here.  
  
I look down at my untouched plate, my knife and fork hanging over the mountain-shaped mashed potatoes. “Did you, uh, find anything new about the mayor’s forthcoming ascension?” My attempt to break the silence emerges feeble and hesitant.   
  
“So you’re speaking to me now?” Rupert’s tone is as flat as his gaze.   
  
I roll my eyes. “Don’t be a bloody child.”  
  
“Because that’s your forte.”  
  
I stare at his raised eyebrow. My outburst in the library was damn justified. “I don’t like being lied to.”   
  
Something clatters on the floor. Xander picks up his fork. “Sorry. I tend to drop things when I hear the sound of hypocrisy.” He fixes his pointed stare on me. I ignore him.   
  
“We didn’t lie to you, William,” Rupert says carefully. “We simply kept the truth from everybody.”   
  
“Sounds the same to me. Doesn’t it, _William_?” Xander’s sour grin disappears as he crunches down a mouthful of uncooked carrots.   
  
Our matching leveled stares fly over Rupert’s head. “We were dealing with a very crucial situation,” he waffles on. “Buffy thought the smaller the number of those involved the safer for everybody. And I happen to agree.”   
  
Xander’s nostrils flare, apparently realizing I’m not going to break eye contact. “Think I’m gonna sleep on the couch tonight.”  
  
“Is something the matter?” Rupert puts down his knife and fork, finally getting a clue.   
  
“Nothing’s the matter and _nobody_ is sleeping on the couch.” Xander’s nostrils flare once more at my dry tone.   
  
The tension envelops the room with the same insufferable silence par the faint sounds of clinking tableware. Simmers of anger and hurt twirling in those hazel eyes, darkening their color with a fusion of emotions.   
  
Xander breaks the staring match and pushes his plate away. “I’m calling it a night.”  
  
“You haven’t finished your dinner.” Rupert eyes the food on the plate with concern. Usually, it’s licked clean after every meal.  
  
“I’m not hungry.” Xander waves him off and walks down the hall to the bedroom.   
  
Rupert lets out a tired sigh. “Did you two fight?”  
  
“We’ll work it out.”   
  
He glances at my uneaten food and doesn’t look reassured.   
  
  
  
  


~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
Pushing the ajar door open all the way, I find Xander unfolding his mattress next to my bed in jerky motions. He’s got a chip on his shoulder ever since I told him the truth about who I am. He didn’t believe me at first. Laughed it off and waited for the ‘Psyche’ that never came. When it finally sunk in that I’m not his William, his only words were, “So it wasn’t a prank?”   
  
I didn’t understand at first, but now staring at my bed, I recall when I first woke up in it. Xander by my side, Rupert dashing in with hot chocolate, I told them who I was, they didn’t believe me. Xander thought it was a prank. Rupert grounded me for that.   
  
Xander grabs his pillow when he finally notices my presence. He peers at me over his shoulder with a grimace. “Look, my brain cells don’t function well until I recharge. We’ll talk tomorrow.”  
  
“Your brain cells are fine,” I drawl, leaning against the doorframe.   
  
He tosses his pillow on the mattress and glares at me. “You’re not William.”  
  
“I _am_ William.”  
  
“But you go by Spike.”  
  
“Well…”  
  
“And you’re a vampire.”  
  
“In the other world, yes.”   
  
There’s a pause. Like he’s considering if he should ask the next question. “You tried to kill Buffy?” It was carefully asked. He’s bracing himself for the truth he knows he won’t like.   
  
“Comes with the package,” I answer with difficulty.   
  
He inhales, eyes determined, the answer sealing the deal. “See, I don’t socialize with those who tried to murder my best friend.”  
  
He flings himself on the mattress and covers his face with the blanket. When things get tough, Xander runs away. But not Spike. I pull away the blanket and grab him by the collar, looking right into his brassed off eyes. “I’ve been fighting by your side for months now.”   
  
He pries my hands off his collar. “You took over my friend’s body.”  
  
“Against my will. It was a curse.”   
  
I didn’t want any of this. That bitch brought me here. I was perfectly satisfied with who I was, a sad vampire whose girl preferred to shag a disgusting slimy demon over him. I didn’t care for the pep talks nor the warm food and its addictive odor nor the history classes and weighing in on historic facts from experience nor being one of the White Hats and the fulfillment of contributing to the good fight. None of that did a thing for me before. Right now, I’m counting the days to fly to England with _my father_ and take a look at Oxford. I get excited for the Bronze nights with the Scooby club like some bloody teenager.   
  
‘Cause I am a teenager. I knew it would happen eventually. William will take over. Spike will cease to exist.   
  
“Where’s William now?” Xander’s leveled voice doesn’t match the burning fury in his eyes. They’re almost black with anger.   
  
“I don’t know.” I feel the shame lurking within me. I’ve never stopped to think about what happened to William. Is it possible that he ended up trapped in my body? A vampire? He did nothing to deserve it. But then again, vengeance demons are never concerned with what’s fair. As long as they punish someone, everyone else be damned.   
  
Xander sits straight and shoves me away. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell us the truth from the beginning?”  
  
“I _told_ you the truth. You thought I was crazy.” I try to keep my voice low. He can tell, ‘cause his gaze darts to the door.   
  
“I’m telling Giles.” He jumps to his feet.   
  
“No.” I pull him down and cover his mouth. My eyes pleading for him to shut it! I spy a folded sock under the desk and think of shoving it in his mouth to keep him quiet.  
  
I’m shaking, fear thudding through me. I’m about to lose everything. All that for a bloody impulsive moment. Why the hell did I tell him? Why the hell did I muck up everything?  
  
“Please. Don’t,” I say, desperately. I remove my trembling hand off his mouth, keeping my temper down, though my guts are twisting with nausea and dread.  
  
He stares at me, studying the fear in my features, the anger still burned in his eyes. “So, what do you want me to do? Lie to my friends?”  
  
“Why not? Won't be the first time.” Didn’t want to go there, but I’m too distressed to think of alternatives.   
  
He looks gutted. “That’s different.”  
  
“It’s always different when it’s you, innit?”  
  
“The world was ending! Who knew if Willow could pull it off! I had to…” He stops when he notices the confusion in my face.   
  
“What are you talking about?”   
  
He narrows his eyes at me. “What are _you_ talking about?”  
  
“The self-harming.”   
  
“Oh.”   
  
I should press him to clarify, turn the tables on him. But the cold thud of fear in my chest isn’t helping me think straight. I want to explain, have him on my side, have at least one person who I can talk to as myself. “Xander, I just needed to tell someone…”  
  
“Why me? Why now?” The deer caught in headlights look is replaced with anger.   
  
I open my mouth about to explain, but the words are stuck in my throat. Would he understand how much Dru’s death meant to me? How lonely it was to pretend to be someone I’m not?   
  
When I don’t answer him, he gets up and wanders aimlessly about the room. He stops by the framed pictures, eying William intensely. I watch him walk over towards the closet, examine the clothes inside, how different they are from what his William used to wear. He turns around and his gaze locks with the notebook on the desk.   
  
“So those poems, it was him?”  
  
I give a timid nod.   
  
“So, when I’m around you, there are no naughty thoughts a-brewing?”   
  
I attempt a small smile when I shake my head. He doesn’t return it.   
  
“I don’t think I can sleep in the same room with you tonight.” He fetches his pillow and blanket and hovers a bit by the door. “I need to clear my thoughts. Thought clear-age is due.” He stares at me briefly before he leaves.   
  
  
  


~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
My eyes snap open to darkness. Did Xander tell? Shouldn’t have let him out of my room where he could come across Rupert and let the sodding cat out of the bag. He’s an effin gob shite. He won’t zip his yap. Heart racing, toxic fear rising up in me, I try to calm myself down. Remind myself that if Rupert knew, he’d be on my case, trying to get rid of me for the real deal.   
  
Something squeezes deep inside, the thought of them wanting him and not me. What a sad pathetic loser you became, Spike. Angelus would laugh his arse off. Big bad vampire, slayer of slayers, crying his guts out for a human family. I rub the sodding tears off my face with the dry side of the pillow, inhaling the air into my dry throat.   
  
So, what if they want him? They’ll send me back to my rightful place. It’s all I wanted. It’s why I snuck out to the Magic Box, why I wanted to summon the mottled bitch. Dru would be alive. I’ll work on getting her back. We’ll rule the world together, killing, mutilating…  
  
I heave a long, long sigh. None of that sounds thrilling anymore, not as thrilling as something mundane like going to class tomorrow. It’s this human shell with its human emotions and its human desires. I won’t want any of it when I’m a vampire again.   
  
I push myself up and put on my glasses, yearning for a glass of water to quench the thirst. I wouldn’t need water if I was still a vampire. See? No need to fret. Let Xander blow the gaff and have done with it. I’d be rid of them all, rid of this prison, rid of school, rid of… Sunday roast and warm porridge.   
  
It’ll never taste as good if I’m a vampire.   
  
A faint moan flows from the bathroom. I stop in my tracks, a horrible feeling in my gut and a huge wallop of fear hits me. Numbed with dread, I feel myself floating like a white ghost towards the sound. Faint sniffles send a wave of panic through my spine.   
  
White spotless bathroom except for the puddle of blood staining the tile between Xander’s bare feet. Xander on the bathroom floor, head leaning against the toilet seat, a deep gash along his extended forearm, shaking with silent sobs.   
  
Bollocks! Bollocks! Sodding hell! Frantically wrapping a towel tightly around his wrist and twirling my head about for a rope… a shoelace… something it to tie the towel with… put more pressure to the wound…  
  
“Rupert! Rupert!”  
  
It starts bleeding through the towel, so I pull the toilet paper so hard it starts rolling. I wrap it around the towel, noticing it’s as useless as tits on a bull and fling it away. I jump towards the silver rail next to the washbasin and snatch another towel. I wrap it around the blood soaked towel and apply more pressure.   
  
The way Xander’s body shivers so hard with sobs disturbs me. I help him lie down, his head knocking the plunger to the floor.   
  
Rupert suddenly storms in, sans glasses and his robe barely tied. He swiftly rushes to the medicine cabinet for a first aid kit. I fall back on my bum, leaving the rest to him.   
  
I’m crying. My teeth chattering and my body trembling, can hardly see the neglected bloodied knife on the floor through the tears. Tears for Xander, and more for myself. He did it because I told him. He was doing so well. This time is worse than the one I found him in the bathroom at his house.   
  
It’s because I told him, the thought dawns on me like a splash of freezing water.   
  
  
  
  


~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
Feeling like I was chewed on and spit out by hell itself, I sit on the chair in my bedroom, huddled up into myself and staring at an equally silent Xander on my bed. His eyes stare up blankly at the ceiling, his arm neatly wrapped up and cleaned from trails of blood.   
  
Rupert, sitting next to him on the bed, rubs gently on his good arm. “I would let your skip school tomorrow if Snyder didn’t schedule that book fair.” He scowls when he mentions the little principal. “Try to get some rest. We still have a few hours before sunrise.”  
  
I turn my head to the mirror; eyes puffed up, nose as red as blood, and tear steaks have dried on my cheeks.   
  
“I’ll prepare something warm for you to drink.” I hear the sound of the door opening and closing, but can’t muster the courage to look at Xander. Don’t want to be in the same room with him. Don’t want to hear him say it. Can’t imagine what it would do to me.   
  
“We have to get William back.” His voice hollow and hushed. “You understand that, right?”  
  
My lips press against each other as I stare at my bloodshed eyes in the mirror.   
  
“I’m willing to keep quiet, but you gotta help me get him back. This isn’t fair to him. Not to Giles. Not to any of us.”   
  
The room turns chilly, and my face pales before me just as frozen ice rips into my heart and tear at it.   
  
  
  


~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
First pupil to arrive in math class. The teacher appears surprised but doesn’t comment. I fiercely will myself to keep my composure. I handled it fine this morning and in the car. It was hard with Xander being there in his knowing silence and Rupert being fatherly and unaware. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to implode.   
  
Chatter drifts to my ears, floats around me with the sound of chairs being scraped back. I open my eyes and Buffy is standing in front of me. Her hands clutching her books and her face is uncertain.   
  
“Hey,” she pipes up awkwardly.   
  
I give her a shaky nod.   
  
“Look, about yesterday…” She bites on her lower lip. “Are we cool?”  
  
What’s she talking about? It takes me a second to grasp what she means. The fight at the library. Bleeding hell, who cares about _that_?  
  
“Water under the bridge.”  
  
Her grin sheds some light on the darkness inside me. Who would have thought? The smile of the Slayer healing a wound in William the Bloody’s heart.   
  
Then Xander walks in.   
  
He stares at me with an indecipherable expression. He even dares to sit on the empty seat behind me, witnessing every tremble, the slump of my shoulders.   
  
The room becomes smaller and it gets harder to breathe. I feel his eyes on my back, boring a hole in there and witnessing the real namby-pamby inside.   
  
I can’t comprehend how it happened. I just find myself dashing out of the classroom, racing down the halls and collapsing on the toilet inside the bathroom stall. It’s insufferable, those feelings coiling inside. Drained, sad, lonely and painfully heartsick with depression. It hurts. It damn hurts.   
  
“Spike?”  
  
I suck in a shuddering breath.   
  
Xander knocks on stall’s door. “Spike, is that you?”  
  
Never thought I’d hate hearing that name again. The sound of it on his lips makes me cringe. I realize I forgot to lock the stall just as he pushes the door open.   
  
I swallow a thick lump in my throat when his gaze lands on the mess on my face. Anger mingled with humiliation rises up within me. I’m completely off my bird. Can’t think. Can’t breathe. And for what?  
  
I push past the boy to the sinks, trying to retain a shred of my dignity.   
  
“Spike?”   
  
I turn on the water and splash it on my face. Let’s wash away the sad arse tinglies rumbling inside.   
  
Xander’s hand clasps my shoulder and squeezes.   
  
“I don’t want you gone.”  
  
The softly spoken words make me stop. They sounded as sincere as the look on his face. I release a sigh, holding his hand on my shoulder with my own and lowering it down.   
  
“What do you expect? If he’s here, I won’t be.”  
  
“We’ll find a way.”   
  
I shake my head and walk out of the bathroom. I need a moment away from him. A moment to give my bloody heart a chance to patch itself up, to regain assurance.   
  
He doesn’t want me gone. Does it mean a thing?   
  
Back in class, he sits next to me, a small smile of assurance.   
  
Apparently it does.   
  
  


~*~*~*~


	21. Chapter 21

 

 

 

  
  
  
I knock my head against the ceiling again. This bloody treehouse is ridiculously small. “Are you sure no one’s gonna look here?” I watch Xander drape a tablecloth on the giant book we’re hiding and place a glass vase with an artificial flower on top. We’ve decided to keep the book with the information on summoning vengeance demons within reach in case we found a way for the real William and I to exist together in the same reality.   
  
“This treehouse has been abandoned since the McNallys fled Sunnydale two years ago.” He pushes the concealed book to the corner next to a tiny plastic chair. “Besides, if Giles finds out this book is missing, the first place he will search is your room.”  
  
My nose twitches at the smell of mildew stale air and I feel a sneeze flare up. I pinch my nose against the sensation and glance at the neat suburban house through the stained glass window. “Two years, eh? House haunted?”  
  
He shrugs. “It’s Sunnydale. Who the hell wants to live here?”  
  
“You?”  
  
“I was born here. It’s different.”  
  
“Buffy?”  
  
“She’s the Slayer. It’s a destiny thing.” Xander wipes the dust off the tiny chair and then sits on it. He looks around the place with nostalgic fondness. “Man, we used to have a lot of fun up here.”  
  
Nothing fit the small space but three little chairs, a few old rolled treasure maps that collected way too much dust, some hardhats, and a couple of binoculars. Dust lies over every surface. Most of it is on the posters hanging on the weakening wooden walls and the floor showing our foot prints.  
  
Next to the couple of glasses thickly encrusted with dried up mold is a piece of uneven cut wood. I lean back against the dirty wall and take a look at the sloppily carved word ‘The Crib’. My eyebrows go up in ridicule and I show it to Xander.   
  
“You trippin’?” he says in the worst imitation of a black man’s accent. “Fresh Prince was the hype back in the day.”   
  
I put it back and crawl towards the window, hoping for some fresh air. The whole window frame gives out when I push against the glass. I trip back and the wood underneath me creaks.   
  
“Watch it, Spike. This treehouse wasn’t built yesterday!”   
  
I squint at the light creeping through the fractured window frame. “Who built this rot?”  
  
“Jesse’s dad. We wanted to help, but he got Mrs. McNally to distract us with ice cream in the park.” Xander smiled at the two other differently colored plastic chairs that faced the one he’s sitting on. “He was pretty cool.”  
  
He seems to be lost in happy childhood memories when I clear my throat. He snaps out of it immediately. “Right. Better get this research party startin’ soon. Off to the library.” He drops the rope ladder through the hole and starts climbing down.   
  
The ladder sways slightly as I descend. The man who built this collapsing playhouse couldn’t have made a rigid wooden ladder? The kiddies must have fallen off quite a bit.   
  
Xander meets me at the end of the ladder. “We better hurry. Willow wants us to go to the school basketball game tonight.”  
  
“You hate sports.”   
  
“With the passion of a bull chasing red.” Xander grimaces as we walk down the pavement. “There’s also that Hogan Martin guy who thinks he’s so hot. Like we should all be awed by him ‘cause he can put a ball in a net.”  
  
I spot a cluster of tykes taking a piss out of an old miserable bloke. “How about I interest you in another plan for tonight?”  
  
“Not banging you, Spike.”  
  
I punch his arm. He yelps.   
  
“No, nitwit, now that you know I’m a century old vampire, thought you’ll take advantage…”  
  
“Vampires don’t do it for me either.” He evades the expected punch with a laugh. But then I trick him with a swift one to the guts. He cowers. I’m satisfied.   
  
“Last one?”  
  
“Swear,” he whimpers.  
  
I sigh. “Before I was indecorously interrupted, I was going to tell you that I know almost all of Angel’s dirty little secrets,” – that got his attention – “So, let’s use that knowledge to take the mickey out of the old brood. Give him something to do.”  
  
“Very considerate of you.” He gives the nod of a professional therapist. “Guy’s been locking himself in that mansion for a week. All doom and gloom, your classic Angel. He needs some company.”  
  
“And who’s better than us, right? We’ll brighten his night.”  
  
“Let’s just hope he doesn’t get too happy.”  
  
“Oh, believe me he won’t.”  
  
Xander gives another therapist nod, most probably copying his own. After the last incident, Rupert was adamant that Xander seeks professional help. Xander went along with it as long as the matter stays a secret between us. He’d been to two sessions so far. He says the biggest challenge was to come up with believable stories to replace the supernatural. Bet it’s why he enjoys going there.   
  
  
  
  


~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
The trip to the mansion was a doss. Angel wasn’t there. Like a bloody rat, he predicted the earthquake and turned tail. Now Xander’s grouching all the way home. Cars passing by and honking can’t block his relentless grizzle. He won’t stop yapping about that silly match his friends went to and some bloke named Hogan Martin.  
  
Turning around the curb, I slap my hand on Xander’s mouth and let out a low whistle.   
  
There’s Angel dawdling down the pavement with Buffy in one of their usual depressing romantic strolls.   
  
We slip over the wooden fence and hide behind a tree, just in time to see Angel stopping Buffy in her tracks to whisper oh so tenderly, “And no matter what happens, I’ll be with you.”   
  
Buffy’s eating it up, eyes glistening and glancing down to his hand holding hers.   
  
Angel attempts a sexy lopsided smile. “I’ll love you even if you’re covered in slime.”  
  
Xander and I share matching gag faces. Even Buffy isn’t impressed. “I liked everything up until that.”  
  
Angel opens his mouth. Stops. Sniffs the air. “We’re watched.”  
  
I turn to Xander. “We’re caught.”  
  
We hold up our hands in surrender and come out of hiding.   
  
Buffy’s eyes widen. “What are you guys doing here? Shouldn’t you be at the game with Willow and Oz?”  
  
“And why should you have all the fun?” I jump over the fence and face her with arms crossed over chest. “Think we’re trading an exciting demon hunt for a mildly interesting match?”   
  
She’s about to reply when suddenly a frown takes over her face and she looks at Xander. “Nice save?” she asks him in confusion.   
  
Xander looks as confused. “How did you…”  
  
“Buffy, I think I’m going to leave,” Angel interrupts, already about to make a quick exit.   
  
“Why the rush, Romeo?” I call after him. “Said you’ll be with her no matter what. What? Was that all talk?”  
  
“William,” Buffy reproaches.   
  
I hold up a hand. “Careful there, Slayer, you don’t know how many women he said that, too.”   
  
Angel starts to stammer. “I didn’t… what are you…”  
  
“You see, the poor sod got burned. A pretty bird with the name Sarah Gilfried ruined him for all women.”  
  
Buffy frowns. “Sarah who?”  
  
Angel startles. “How did you…”  
  
“Who’s this Sarah?” Buffy turns to Angel with accusation in her eyes. Obviously his stunt with Faith still troubles her mind.   
  
“Buffy, I swear it was a long time ago. Before your great, great, great grandfather was born.”   
  
Xander nudges my shoulder. “Wish I brought popcorn!”   
  
I take a smug step forward, my mind running through every adventure I had with Angelus and all the tales Drusilla told me about his pathetic life as a human. “And even if an aristocrat lady like Miss Gilfried agreed to pursue a relationship, you were eventually going to lose her to the Immortal. Not that I think you’d be around to see Rome, don’t think Grandma bitch would have found you as fascinating if you weren’t a tiddly muck up.”  
  
“Grandma bitch?” Angel repeats in shock.   
  
“Drusilla’s grandma, isn’t she?” I come up with the quickest save.   
  
Angel’s mouth hangs open. Buffy just stares at me pensively.   
  
“Watcher records,” I answer Angel’s unasked question. William is a bookworm, ‘course he read all about it.   
  
“The watcher records knew about Sarah?” Angel asks incredulously.   
  
“You’d be surprised what they have on you,” I lie again then turn to a silent Buffy with a smirk. “Once he crashed a wedding party and beat the groom to death with his own arm.”  
  
“Good cripes, Buffy,” Xander exclaims. “That is not a guy you want to be with. Not marriage material.”   
  
I turn to Xander with a nod. “She wouldn’t want a git who was chased out of London by an angry mob. Hiding his arse in an abandoned mine shaft in Yorkshire.” Angelus was mightily brassed off. His good name sullied and in fear of being hunted. I chuckle at the memory. “Very degrading.”   
  
Angel’s eyebrows furrow in bewilderment. “I was never chased out of London by an angry mob.”  
  
Caught off guard. “You weren’t?”  
  
“Did the watcher records say that?”   
  
Bugger! I was the one who got us chased out of London. Spike not being there meant Angelus and his ladies still lived in luxury.   
  
I try to come up with a good cover up story when Buffy shakes her head. “I… I need to go.”  
  
Angel rushes after her. “Buffy, wait! That was all in the past when I didn’t have a soul. It doesn’t mean anything now.”   
  
She looks up at him, her face really disturbed. “It’s not you, Angel. I… I have to go.”  
  
She vanishes into the night while a troubling feeling stirs in the pit of my stomach. Is she going to ask Rupert about those watcher records? Would I get in trouble again?  
  
“You’ve changed.” Angel eyes me dryly. “I’d expect this immaturity from Xander, but not you.”  
  
“Hey!” Xander exclaims in offense. “But yeah, you got a point there.”   
  
Angel shakes his head and stalks away.  
  
“You were right,” Xander comments with a satisfied grin. “That was bitchin’ fun.”   
  
“Do you think Buffy will get us in trouble?” I ask anxiously.  
  
He drapes an arm over my shoulder. “The watcher diaries have all the scoop on Angel. Willow told me that last year. You’re safe.”   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
Victory cheer takes over the school the next day. Our little ponce of a principal has thrown a celebration for the basketball team’s latest win. Xander and I stuck around to observe the racket for a while before heading towards the library.   
  
Library doors swing open and the chatter dies inside. Grave faces stare at us with eerie silence. I crack a smile to hide the growing worry within me. “What’s with the long faces? We won the game. You lot should be happy.”  
  
Rupert’s face is ice solid; his grim eyes are bare and more menacing without his glasses. “We’ll be a lot happier if you told us how you managed to possess my son’s body.”  
  
Anxious smile disappears. Heart sinks. “What?”  
  
“Your name is Spike and you were a vampire for one hundred and nineteen years,” Buffy says calmly, perched on the research table with Willow and Oz occupying the chairs on her right and Wesley on her left. “We know you’re hiding the truth from us.” She fixes her hard gaze on Xander. “Both of you.”  
  
Willow looks accusingly at her long time best friend. “Xander, how could you do that?”   
  
Heart hammers painfully fast, I don’t think I can feel my legs. It’s over. They know. It’s… over. I don’t even hear what Xander stammers trying to explain because my gaze is frozen on Rupert’s. His eyes numb with absolute hate and despair.   
  
Wesley pushes his chair back and flips a page on a book he’s holding. “I have studied and done research on Angelus in my years in the watcher council and I have never heard of the name Spike.”   
  
“Because he’s not from our reality. Right, _Spike_?” The look in Buffy’s eyes. That’s the Slayer. Menacing and dangerous. Not the girl nervous enough trying to reconcile with me last week.   
  
Xander holds up his hands. “Now wait a minute…”  
  
“Shut up, Xander!” Rupert barks.   
  
Xander shrinks next to me. This isn’t the first time Rupert loses his temper on him, but it was never this personal. “I took you into my home, fed you and mended the cuts on your wrists every time you had a relapse all while you were betraying me behind my back.”   
  
Buffy gawks at Xander in shock. “You slit your wrists?”  
  
Willow jumps to her feet and glares at me. “You told me he stopped!”  
  
Buffy turns to her. “You knew?”  
  
Xander turns to me. “You told Willow?”  
  
I swallow a bile that rose in my throat, eyes on Rupert’s hard face. He’s right in front of me, not a trace of the loving father I’ve come accustomed to.   
  
“Where’s my son you bleeding bastard?”


	22. Chapter 22

 

 

 

  
  
It all comes rushing back; the stench of liquor and blood intermingling with the smell of old metal that lingered in the old factory. The peaceful pacing of an unconscious Xander’s heartbeats clashing with the raging drumming of Willow’s. The box of supplies, the broken bottle, and the ugly face of the demon. Those last minutes as a vampire, dead and unfeeling, come bolting by like a blur.   
  
It’s hard to remember how I was able to function without breathing. How I craved the foul smell and taste of blood. I don’t miss it. I don’t want it. But it seems that soon I’ll have to go back.   
  
My death sentence is about to be carried out.   
  
They’re all looking at me with a mixture of different emotions on their faces as I laid it all out. The whole sodding story.   
  
“So you were cursed by a vengeance demon for kidnapping and abusing Xander and Willow and she sent you here as Mr. Giles’ son.” A fascinated Wesley recaps with his eyebrows so high they created three folds in his forehead. “In that world William exists as a hundred and forty-nine-year-old vampire, and Mr. Giles is childless.” He sits back in his chair, crossing his fingers and nodding in absolute captivation.   
  
“A world where Giles doesn’t have a son.” Buffy ponders that idea with a headshake. “Sounds too weird to me.”  
  
“That Giles must be really lonely.” Willow looks at me for confirmation. I turn my gaze to Rupert, the only one not seated at the table, standing by the counter and mindlessly rubbing the earpiece of his glasses with his thumb.   
  
“Wait, if William didn’t exist in your reality…”  
  
“William exists,” I interrupt Buffy urgently. “He’s me, but I was born a century earlier.”   
  
“Still, the William who is Giles’ son is the one who told us about the spell to restore Angel’s soul.”   
  
“Right,” Willow chimes in. “William and Miss Calendar worked together on it. Unless she didn’t die?” Her face lights up with hope.   
  
“Angel killed her there, too.”  
  
“Oh.” Brief moment of disappointment passes when she starts snapping her fingers. “Wait. How did the other Willow in that reality save the other Xander and the other Cordelia from the other Angel when he locked them up in his apartment?” She looks at her boyfriend. “Whoa, too many ‘other’ in that question.”  
  
“Four,” Oz provides helpfully.   
  
“Look, aren’t there more urgent stuff we should focus on right now?” Xander asks, sounding slightly miffed. “Like Buffy’s ‘aspect of a demon’ thing?”  
  
“Buffy reads minds.” Willow beams.  
  
Xander looks at Buffy in awe. “Professor X style?”   
  
Buffy smiles. “I was so freaked out last night when I kept hearing your thoughts. It’s still happening now.” She narrows her eyes at him. “Right now you’re thinking if I can learn foreign languages by reading the language centers of the brain of an expert.”   
  
“Awesome,” Xander laughs.   
  
“No, it’s not ‘awesome’,” Giles snaps and makes his way back towards the table, clutching his glasses so tight I won’t be surprised if he breaks them right then. “It’s appalling how you three can joke about when William’s life could be in danger.”  
  
The three in question shrink in their seats, heads downcast in shame. The lump in my throat isn’t getting any less painful.  
  
Wesley nods along with Rupert’s speech, a glint of triumph glistening behind his tedious glasses.   
  
Rupert leans forward against the table, eyeing the guilty faces sternly. “So far, we have no means of knowing William’s whereabouts.” Then he directs his gaze at me for the first time in a while, his bare eyes glacial and intimidating. “You were going to summon the demon that brought you here. How were you going to do that?”  
  
I force that lump down my throat. Those eyes which used to be bright with love and warmth, now cold and uncompromising. Don’t think I’ll ever get those pesky flutterings in the pit of my stomach anymore. His dad stunt is officially over.   
  
I swallow thickly and lower my gaze to my tightly closed fists. “There’s a book.”  
  
“And where is that book?” His impatient demand causes me to flinch.   
  
It’s hard to breathe. Air is too thick to swallow. Bleeding… _fuck_ my eyes are starting to sting. Blood gathers in my cheekbones and a sense of belated dignity is finally catching up with me.   
  
“In a treehouse,” Buffy says suddenly.   
  
All eyes are on her. She shrugs. “Xander thought it.”  
  
Xander slams his hands on the table. “You’re not supposed to read my thoughts without my permission! Consent, look it up!”  
  
Rupert looks between the two. “And where is that treehouse?”  
  
Xander shuts his eyes and grinds his teeth together. Buffy recoils. “Ew. Xander, gross!”   
  
“Serves you right for reading my thoughts.”  
  
“It’s Jesse’s treehouse, right?” Willow asks feebly, earning a glare from Xander that makes her sink in her chair.   
  
“Willow, go get the book,” Rupert orders without a second’s pause.   
  
She darts her wide eyes at me, both filled with pity. “But, Giles…”  
  
“At once.”  
  
I push my chair back and stalk away from the table. “Yeah, Red, why don’t you get the book? Can’t wait to be rid of you lot.”  
  
“Spike…” Xander exclaims in shock. I turn around to face the astonished girl with a casual grin. “You won’t miss it. It’s under a cover. The biggest thing in that tiny playhouse.”   
  
Willow takes an unsure step towards the door then looks at me in sympathetic hesitation.   
  
“Don’t bugger about. Snap to it!”   
  
She springs ahead with Oz trailing after her.   
  
“Spike, what are you doing?” Xander’s in my face now, eyes aghast, stiff with hurt and confusion.   
  
“You thick? I’m going home.”  
  
“But…”  
  
“But what?” A glitter of malicious cruelty seeps into my voice. “Think I’d rather stay here and play school boy with a ham-fisted geek for a friend? Lost your marbles there, mate. I was a widely-feared vampire, known for killing two slayers, and you lot cower before my presence. Think I’d trade that for…” Nastily looking the boy over, “This?”   
  
Dismayed, Xander stares at my implacable face. “You don’t mean that.”  
  
“Oh I bloody well mean it,” I flare angrily, distancing myself from him. The hurt in his eyes is awful. Last thing I want is to upset him, but what choice do I have? They’re sending me away. Rupert will do anything for his son to be put to rights. None of them want me here, might as well show them I don’t either.   
  
“He doesn’t,” Buffy’s voice cuts through the air calm and distinct. “He’s just acting like a jerk because it’s easier.”   
  
Nasty little slayer! Can’t get past her. She turns me around, her face firm and adamant. “Look, it’ll take Giles hours to figure out how to summon that demon. We’ll hit the books. Find a way for you to stay here.”  
  
I stare right into her determined eyes. This isn’t a joke. She’s serious.   
  
“She’s right.” Xander attempts a comforting smile. It works. Until Wesley clears his throat.   
  
“Are you sure this is the best way to exercise your efforts?”   
  
“As sure as I’m gonna exercise my fist in your face,” Xander shoots back.   
  
Wesley winces at the sudden hostility and adjusts his glasses. “Giles won’t rest until he summons that demon. A task well within his capabilities now that there’s a book. I’m afraid you won’t have time to find a solution to Spike’s problem.”   
  
As if on cue, Rupert marches out of his office with his jacket on.   
  
“Giles, where are you going?”   
  
“I already have the ingredients. I’m off to get them,” he answers Buffy in a rush, and the library doors swing back behind him. My chest tightens as my mind flashes back to the night Rupert answered the phone call from the magic shop. He had agreed to receive the package of the rest of the supplies since I already paid for it. He’s got them all. He’s all set.   
  
“How did he get the…?” Xander asks, bewildered.   
  
“We don’t have much time. Step on it.” Buffy, already read my thoughts, leads the way to the staircase.   
  
  
  


~*~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
Books scatter about in the stack level. I rest my back against the empty book shelves – as much rest as a bloke can get from a shelf pressing hard against his backbone – and observe the two devouring the large volumes in their laps. Xander’s eyes skim through the text searching for a key word. He’s plowed through three books in the past thirty minutes clearly without comprehending a word. Just hope he didn’t skim over something important.   
  
Buffy is a slower reader, mostly because she keeps glancing Xander’s way. She shifts, her shoulder brushing against his, and she eyes him warily.   
  
I lower my gaze to the book in my lap. There’s nothing that addresses the possibility of two individuals with the same essence existing in one reality. It’s the wrong book. They’re all the wrong books. Rupert alone knows the right ones. The poetic irony of it all. I muffed my chances with the man and now he can’t stand the sight of me. ‘Cause taking over his boy’s body and lying about it for months isn’t a good enough reason, eh Spike?   
  
“Why did you cut yourself?” Buffy’s question drifts soft and timid.   
  
Xander’s jaw clenches. “We have more important stuff to deal with, Buff.”  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me?” The hurt slips into her voice with a touch of unveiled guilt.   
  
He shrugs, his eyes fixated on the page he’s reading.   
  
“How are…”  
  
Xander heaves a sigh and snaps his book shut. “Look, I’m okay, really. I’m even seeing this guy. He knows what he’s talking about.” He opens his book again with a groan. “See what you did? Now I lost my page.”   
  
Buffy turns her gaze back to her book. “Good. Counseling is good. Just hope he doesn’t get killed when you’re ready to open up.” I tilt my head at her wistful tone. Sounds like our slayer dipped into the world of therapy but it didn’t take.   
  
Buffy smiles up at me. My cheeks warm up in embarrassment. Silly little eavesdropper.   
  
“Well, this is Sunnydale, so fat chance.” Xander casts Buffy a reassuring smile when she glances his way. “I promise to make the most of it before that happens.”   
  
She smiles back. Sappy moment comes to an end. Buffy lifts an eyebrow at me. I go back to reading right away. Not going to think it, slayer.   
  
Willow and Oz show up together to join the research party. “Giles has all these ingredients down there,” Oz comments, seizing a book.   
  
Willow sits cross-legged next to Buffy and grabs a volume. “How did he know what to get before reading the vengeance demon book?”  
  
“William tried to summon the demon before and Giles caught him so he kept everything.” Buffy looks up apologetically. “Sorry. Not William. What was your name again?”  
  
I roll my eyes. “I am Willia…” I give up with a sigh. “Spike.”  
  
Willow frowns in curiosity. “Why did they call you ‘Spike’?”  
  
“Because he used to torture people with railroad spikes.”  
  
“Can you bloody turn that off?”  
  
“Really can’t. And it’s so distracting. Can’t you guys not think very loudly. It’s hard to concentrate on this boring book as it is.” Buffy nods to Xander. “Yeah, I wish I paid more attention to Latin, too.”  
  
Xander shakes his head in complete admiration. “This is so cool.”  
  
Buffy grins.  
  
And there they are; little adolescent scouts trying to solve a mystery. My mystery. Never seen myself as the slayer’s helpless client. From forming an alliance with the slayer to stop Angel’s mad plan to end the damn world – straight up macho stuff as Xander would say – to sitting about waiting to be rescued like a defenseless pipsqueak.   
  
That doesn’t stop the nagging question; why do they want to rescue me? I get why Xander does it, but the rest of them, not like we had some heart to hearts in the past months. They should be down there with Rupert setting up for the spell, not up here noses stuck in books just because I look like their little chum.   
  
“Getting rid of you doesn’t feel right.”  
  
Growling as a human doesn’t have the same affect. Buffy responds with a crooked smile.   
  
“It feels ookie,” Willow gives her two cents. Xander and Oz nod in agreement.   
  
Everybody got used to Buffy’s new skill they’re catching up quick on her sudden remarks. Should pipe down the thought train. It isn’t safe to think with nosy parker there prying on every brainwave.   
  
She frowns. I wiggle my eyebrows.   
  
Wesley makes his unwanted presence known, clearing his throat again by the top of the stairway. “Mr. Giles wants your presence downstairs.”   
  
Xander sits up in alert. “He’s done already?”   
  
“It appears so,” Wesley answers uncertainly, trying to avoid eye contact with me. “He’s already seated in the middle of the circle.”  
  
That’s when I smell a whiff of burning in the air.   
  
“I’ll talk to him,” Buffy assures me, sprinting to her feet and striding down the stairs. We follow her, solemnly ascending to the library’s main floor. Rupert has cleared away the table and chairs and painted an uneven red circle on the floor. He’s sitting inside the circle with a large golden goblet already smoldering and surrounded by several bags and bowls of various herbs and powders.   
  
Buffy crouches next to him. “Giles, how about you give us till tomorrow morning? If we don’t find a solution, we do it your way.”  
  
“William could be in grave danger, Buffy.” He takes a bowl and pours some of its powder into the goblet. “I won’t waste a second.”  
  
A hand suddenly grasps my shoulder. Xander looks more disturbed and frightened than I feel.   
  
That’s when Rupert sits back holding the book open with one hand. He looks up at me, face deprived from emotion. “What’s the name of the demon?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
His eyes darken. “You’re lying.”  
  
“He’s not, Giles,” Buffy says quietly, rising up and exiting the circle.   
  
With a heavy feeling in my chest, I tell him what I know, “There are names of vengeance demons mentioned in the book. I also found Anyanka, the one who cursed Xander.” The boy’s hand squeezes my shoulder. “But I couldn’t identify the one who cursed me. I don’t think she’s in there.” If my suspicions are right, those familiar features could belong to Cecily. I don’t suppose she was turned into a demon when I was alive, perhaps a few years later. The book in Rupert’s hold is three centuries old, Cecily wouldn’t be in it.   
  
“Then her name is Cecily,” Buffy says, biting her lip when I release a heavy sigh.   
  
“I’m not sure it’s really her,” I explain. “And most demons try to detach themselves form their human interspecies, preferring to be addressed with a new name.”  
  
“Like you and Angel,” Oz says.   
  
I give a small nod, detesting the comparison with Angel.   
  
“Oh, Cecily, I breach thee.” Rupert’s chant startles us all. He adds more herbs into the goblet and proceeds, “Come before me.”   
  
My heart skips a beat as I wait for a hideous demon to appear, but nothing happens. No hideous demons afoot.   
  
“Maybe Cecily doesn’t exist in our reality?” Xander suggests, his hand finally leaving my shoulder. He starts waving his fingers in circles. He usually does that when he explains a Star Trek plot point. “I don’t know all the facts, but I’m assuming you knew her before you were turned into a vampire, right? Who was she? Your sister? Were you two related?”  
  
Lost for words, I don’t feel like explaining what meant Cecily to me. But if I don’t, Buffy will and I’ll be damned if she does. “She… she was someone I had feelings for.”   
  
Xander purses his lips, considering his theory. “And once again ladies and gentlemen, Xander strikes, but he doesn’t score.”  
  
“Don’t sell yourself short.” Oz holds up a hand. “Cecily may exist, but maybe she doesn’t turn into a vengeance demon. Maybe Spike’s existence drove her to become one.”  
  
“What a comforting thought,” I retort. Xander pats my back for support.   
  
“Could this meaningless discussion come to an end?” Rupert barks in frustration, flipping through the pages in the book.   
  
“Perhaps you could try one of the names in the book,” Wesley points out. “It doesn’t have to be the same demon who did the original curse.”   
  
Rupert seems to approve because he’s scanning the names and descriptions the same way Xander scans movie titles in the paper, very seriously and thoroughly. He points his finger on a particular name and places the book on the floor.   
  
“Oh, Zephyra, I beseech thee,” he recites the ritual and adds more herbs to the fire. “In the name of slighted paternities, appear before me.”  
  
The sudden puff of smoke startles me, my mind flashes back to the appearance of ‘Cecily’ in the factory. This demon version isn’t prettier. She’s more wrinkled and repulsive.   
  
“You have called upon me, wronged father,” her resonant voice a tad less deep than Demon Cecily’s. “How do you wish me to discipline that ungrateful child?” She glowers at me, flicking her dark cape behind her.   
  
“You curse children?” Willow asks in shocked abhorrence.   
  
“Only the disobedient and churlish. Do right by your parents and you shall be safe.”  
  
“What about bad parents?” Buffy challenges with hands on hips. She reconsiders all of the sudden. “Not saying that my mother is bad. She’s great. She’s…”  
  
“Buffy, please.” Rupert turns to Zephyra. “A vampire has taken over my son’s body due to a vengeance demon’s curse. The vampire and the vengeance demon are from a different reality.”  
  
Her glare for me dissolves into a look of compassion to Rupert. “Was your son insolent?”   
  
“My son is innocent,” he whispers, the pain in his voice makes me feel about two inches tall. “I am a wronged father because my son was taken away from me.”  
  
“It’s not Spike’s fault, Giles.” Xander’s voice as pained and low as Rupert’s.   
  
Jaw set on steel, Rupert jams his eyes shut. “Xander, I don’t think it’s wise for you to open your mouth this instant.”  
  
“I know. I just… you can wish William back without getting rid of Spike.” Xander does the unwise and approaches Rupert whose fists are stiffly closed. “This was done to him. He didn’t wish for this to happen.”  
  
Rupert doesn’t punch him. He wearily stares at Xander’s despairing face. “But he lied to me. To all of us.” He pinches the bridge of his nose with a tired sigh. “This isn’t easy for me to let slide.”   
  
“I know I don’t deserve to be asking you for favors, but Spike was there for me. He saved my life,” Xander’s voice wavers slightly and suddenly I realize this isn’t just about me and Rupert. What would happen to Xander if I’m to disappear? He’s not one for sharing and showing weakness. He needs someone to notice, to take his hand and force him to deal.   
  
“He… I need him, Giles,” Xander pleads in the most heartbreaking voice I ever heard. “I don’t think I can… not without him. Please.”  
  
A long moment in heavy silence passes as Rupert stares pensively into Xander’s rueful face.   
  
“It’s your call,” Zephyra urges, appearing disinterested in all the drama. “You make the wish, I grant it.”  
  
“Giles, please,” Xander begs once more.   
  
Rupert moves his gaze to Buffy and Willow who look distraught as well. His gaze stops at me, the eyes behind the glass dark and unreadable. He turns to the demon at last, his head slightly downcast, and icy fear begins to trickle down my body.  
  
“I wish for my son to be here.” Short, precise and to the point. Softly spoken. Quietly delivered. I can see Xander about to breathe a sigh of relief when Rupert’s head shoots up. “And for the vampire to go home.”  
  
“Giles, no!”   
  
Breath caught in my throat, I whip my head to the demon’s twinkling eyes. “Wish granted.”  
  
“Spike!” Xander wraps his arms around me, holding me tight, desperately trying to keep me in his world. But my body starts to fade, growing transparent with each second, I frantically look around at Buffy’s stunned expression, Willow covering her face with her hands, Oz’s parted mouth, and eventually Xander’s petrified tearful eyes.   
  
All fading away into white. Cold, freezing white presses against my face like a clobber, and a gasp escapes my lips at the rapid cooling in my skin. Panic overtakes and the frozen stabbing pain sends my heart raging.   
  
Until it halts to a stop.   
  
My heart, doesn’t pump, it stops.   
  
I suck in as much air as I can. Make it work, make it pump.   
  
Nothing. White fades and my heart doesn’t work. I want it to but I can’t think with all the noise.   
  
Loud, loud drumming. Strong smells of sweat and blood. A broken bottle in my hand shaking next to a frightened face, wide green eyes pleading I let go of the red locks in my fist. That very familiar sensation; fear. Agonizing fear. I can feel it. I can smell it. Everything is back as it once was. Pounding, orders, blood swishing in veins.  
  
I grab my head, the bottle slips and crashes on the floor, and I scream.   
  
I scream to block it all.  
  
The noise and the smells… the dominating sensation of panic and fear.   
  
I’m trying to breathe. I inhale and it shoots out, but… nothing. The hands grabbing my head are too strong they’re about to crush it.   
  
I look up, and Willow is eying me warily, inching closer to…  
  
I leap to my feet, dismissing her cry of fear, and check the unconscious Xander’s pulse. Still alive, but that gash of blood on his temple. Must get a move on. Get him to a bleeding hospital.   
  
I race up the stairs and kick the door open. Then jump from the top to the floor only to dodge a sudden swing of a spade. I snatch it out of Willow’s hands effortlessly and bark in her alarmed features, “I’m on your bloody team!”   
  
I haul Xander up to my arms and start running for the door, stopping temporarily to glare down at the shocked redhead. “You coming or not?”  
  
Still shocked and dazed, she compels and apprehensively steps up the stairs.   
  
“On with it!”  
  
She sprints to my side in a second. I heave an aggravated sigh. I fling Xander on my shoulder and grab her hand, then stride down the empty dark streets.   
  
  
  



	23. Chapter 23

 

 

  
  
Heartbeats are everywhere. Ticking hearts going at a different time, different speed, never stops. Not even the strong smell of antiseptics can quell all the thudding. It used to be a blessing not to hear them. To be ignorant of it all, the piercing wails of a child, the frustration gliding out of the mother dragging a dozen children with drumming hearts into the white hall soaked in the stench of synthetic clean death.   
  
It’s not just the heartbeats doing my head in, the blood flowing through veins, rich and inviting, echoes hard in my ears. Sounds and smells, sharper and more pronounced, striking from every side.   
  
The hunger grows within me. Surging blood from each grief-struck face calling out for me. My tongue presses against my fang, sharp and ready.   
  
I shake my head. Xander is being treated in the room before me. Can’t think about feeding when Xander is in there. Hurt and insentient.   
  
An alluring smell tickles my nose. Blood. Human blood in bags. The nurse stops the medical cart very close to me. One of the impatient patients is demanding to be let in. Eyes caught on the rich red inside the plastic bags. With a speed I forgot I used to have, I snatch one of the bags and try not to crush it inside my pocket.   
  
Gentle, Spike, you don’t want to stain your beloved duster.   
  
A familiar scent is approaching. Willow stops in her tracks with an eep when she sees me. “Spike,” she squeaks in anxiety. “You’re still here.”   
  
“Xander isn’t out yet.” Her mouth hangs at my answer. What she expects? ‘Course, I’ll still be here. “Where were you?”  
  
“Me? Nowhere. Surely not calling anyone. Nope.”   
  
“You called Buffy?”   
  
“I… I…”  
  
“Good thinking.” I look back at the white door in front of me. Won’t be bad to have the whole gang present when Xander wakes up.   
  
Willow’s pounding heartbeats slow down, and I notice the confusion in her features. “What is it?” My gentle question makes her twice as confused.   
  
“You’re different.” She keeps her distance, but the strong waves of fear within her have diminished. “One minute you were all grrr and holding broken glass to my face. Then you rushed us to the hospital. Like you… like you care about Xander.”   
  
“I do.” There’s doubt, it’s terrifying how I can sense it. Not just from Willow. Blood flows at a different speed from one person to the other. Waves of different emotions have a distinctive smell without having an actual scent. How did I get used to this? Too much is going on at once. Strange how it hasn’t driven me mad already.   
  
“When did that happen?” Willow asks with genuine curiosity. “It was you who did that to him.”  
  
I feel a hint of a smile. She’s always been the most open-minded and willing to hear the other side out.   
  
I slip onto a chair and stare down at my ethereal pale hands. They’re too white it’s sidetracking and unnatural. It was just a few hours ago when these hands were tanned with color, pulsed with life instead of power. My pale hands can crush a rock in a blink of an eye, strong and malicious to break a vase on Xander’s head instead of the gentle warmth that wrapped gauze on his slit wrists.   
  
“I was sent into an alternate dimension for months. Xander and I were friends there.”   
  
Willow appears to have felt the sadness in my words. She sits next to me, just a faint hint of fear overshadowed by kindness.   
  
“When were you sent there?”  
  
“You won’t remember. A demon appeared at the factory and punished me for...” I give a shrug. She nods and glances at Xander’s door. “Now I’m back,” it rolls out of my mouth with more resentment than intended.   
  
“Because your punishment is over,” Willow says with a skeptical tone, not naïve as I expected.   
  
“No. It just begun.” With a heavy heart – useless unbeaten heart – I remember it all; the family and friends, the future wide open with possibilities gone forever by a wisp of words.   
  
Buffy is here. Can sense her powerful presence, another set of frantic heartbeats on tail, and _his_ stench as well.   
  
“Willow,” Buffy and Oz yell in union when they see her sitting next to me. She rushes to her boyfriend’s arms and they embrace in happy relief.   
  
I don’t have time to dwell on it with hunk boy looming over me. “What’s he doing here?” he hisses and puffs up his manly chest.  
  
“Where’s Xander?” Cordelia grabs Willow’s shoulders and tries shaking the answer out of her.   
  
“Still inside,” Willow yelps, slipping out of Cordelia’s grip. “The doctor said it won’t take long.”   
  
“You!” Shrill voice and angry eyes, Cordelia stalks towards me and pokes a perfectly sharpened nail in my chest. “What have you done to my boyfriend?”  
  
“Your boyfriend?” They haven’t been caught, Xander and Willow, Cordelia still sees him as old faithful.   
  
“Tell me you haven’t cut off his droopy ears! Did you set his floppy hair on fire? Did you break his boney elbow?”  
  
My mouth hangs open slightly. “I… uh, smashed a vase to his head.”  
  
Her eyes almost bulge out. “With the few brain cells he has, are you nuts?”  
  
“Do you even like him?” I exclaim in amusement.   
  
Angel steps between us, his squinting eyes bore holes right through me. “Spike, you better get out.”  
  
“No. No.” Buffy walks into my personal space and we almost bump noses. “I’m not gonna let him get away again. I brought my special stake for this.”  
  
Angel pulls her aside. “Buffy, there are so many people around.”  
  
The family drama is interrupted by the doctor showing his face out of Xander’s room. Cordelia pushes Angel and Buffy out of her way and stands before the doctor. “How’s he? Can I see him?”  
  
“He’s still unconscious. But it won’t be a bad idea for him to wake up around his friends.”   
  
Cordelia dashes inside like a flash, exactly what I’m about to do… before Buffy bumps noses with me again. “Where do you think you’re going?”  
  
Willow takes hold of her arm. “Buffy, Spike brought us here.”  
  
“Your point? He kidnapped you and hurt Xander.”  
  
Willow glances between me and her, her face sympathetic and uncertain at the same time. “Yeah, but he’s kinda changed.”  
  
“Changed? How?”  
  
I throw a fleeting look at Xander’s room through the ajar door. Cordelia is in there, clutching Xander’s hand to her chest, staring down at his unresponsive face with fear and concern.   
  
She loves him, the weight of that realization bore down on me like a merciless draught. I find myself leaving the hospital as Buffy and Willow argue over my intentions.   
  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
My feet dragged me there, couldn’t stop them, didn’t want to. He’ll stake me on the spot. He won’t spare a glance. I’m not his son. He doesn’t have one here.   
  
Here I am, standing before Rupert Giles’ house with a death wish. I sniff the air, none of the familiar smells are there. It’s too late at night. He probably finished eating his supper now.   
  
Forming a tentative fist, I knock on his door and wait… maybe just for a second I can pretend that things haven’t changed. That I still have a room in there, that my dinner is waiting for me inside the oven, that his eyes will twinkle at the sight of me and he’ll yell at me for coming home late.   
  
The door opens and I brace myself, but instead of Rupert, a man I’ve never seen glares at me.   
  
“Is Rupert Giles here?” I ask with a strange feeling in my gut. Who the hell is this bloke? This is our flat, I’m sure.   
  
“Who?” he grunts in annoyance, scratching his scruffy head.   
  
“This isn’t Rupert Giles’ home?”  
  
“No.”  
  
I throw a glance inside. That’s our home… looks like it, the couch is different… he… doesn’t live here in this reality?  
  
“My mistake. Sorry.” I walk away, with a sinking feeling inside. Right. Why would Rupert get a two bedroom flat when he doesn’t have a son? He probably lives somewhere else. Come to think of it, Rupert wasn’t with the others when they arrived to the hospital. Did something happen to him? Does Buffy know he’s in trouble? Shouldn’t she do something?  
  
Maybe I should look for him…  
  
Maybe not, a voice inside growls, I’m a vampire now, not one of them. Time to face the bloody music. I’m back in my old pale skin.   
  
I’m a monster.   
  
  
  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  
  
  
  
  
Xander’s back home. I can hear the faint rhythmic beat of his heart through the closed window of his bedroom. His parents aren’t arguing tonight. Good. Let the boy rest some.   
  
I watch him sleeping and note he differences between him and my boy. They look exactly the same on the outside, but this one hasn’t really been through half of what the other went through. I don’t suspect he will since Cordelia hasn’t caught him cheating.   
  
His heartbeats quicken. He’s about to wake up. I watch with anticipation as his eyelids slip open, fluttering slightly, then he notices me standing outside of his window.   
  
Our eyes lock for a moment. His heart begins drumming in panic. He flings the cover away and approaches the window. Hope swells within me, he’s right in front of me, a thick gauze pad strapped to his head. Nothing separates us bar the glass of his window.   
  
But his hazel eyes aren’t welcoming. There’s hatred and fear and none of the usual friendly merriment. He snaps his window curtains shut, and it’s then when I realize, everything has changed. Can’t start all over, especially since I had it easy there, I was one of them, loved and wanted.   
  
Heart thick with loss and sorrow grows heavier just as the dark sky begins to pale. Perched on his house’s wooden fence, I light a fag and inhale the bitter taste in. Smoke dances about the air and then dissipates into the cool atmosphere.   
  
After everything that happened, it’s hard to go back. Nothing seems to matter anymore, neither here nor there. My eyes are captured by the thin orange veil in the far horizon, watching it break through the lightened dark color of the sky.   
  
“You’re still here?” Xander’s voice drifts from behind. He’s standing at the front door of his house in striped pajamas – the same ones I woke up in as William Giles – so close to the door, not a step further. “Taking stalking tips from the king of stalking himself?”   
  
I try not to growl when he compared me to Angel. “Wanted to see for myself that you’re safe and sound.”  
  
“Because we’re the bestest of buds?” said with a voice dripping with sarcasm.   
  
“We actually were,” low and wistful, desolate and full of yearning, but it passes through his head unnoticed.   
  
“Right. The parallel universe thing. Willow told me all about it. You may fool her, but not me. I know this is one of your scams to finish off Buffy’s friends one by one.”  
  
“That’s Angel’s game. Not mine. I go straight for the prey.” I can see the cynicism in his eyes even when he’s standing far away from me.   
  
“Then what are you doing here?”  
  
“Told you.”  
  
“I don’t believe you.”  
  
A small smile unfurls, the fag in my lips almost slips to the ground. “Yeah, mate, you have to work on your trust issues. They’ll hold you back.”  
  
He takes a step back. “They keep me safe.”   
  
“They may drive the people who care about you away.”  
  
“You mean like you?”  
  
It was unbearable. The intense hammering of his heart, the thick waves of fear, and the way he stares at me. I give him my back and light another fag, inhaling deeply as the tip flares an angry red.   
  
“You know, the sun’s about to come up,” he says with a surprising uncertainty.   
  
The crisp morning air, heavy with dew, crackles from the grass underneath. My heart rests with ease, unfazed by the dark sky losing its ink, showing the faintest traces of blue.  
  
“So you’re gonna stay there?” The increasing level of uncertainty curls up my lips.   
  
“Are you inviting me in?”   
  
“I’m not an idiot.”  
  
“Of course, you’re not.” I take another drag and let the smoke out through my nose. Interesting how smoking gives a calming effect, should have done more of that as a living boy, but Rupert wouldn’t have allowed that.   
  
“Seriously, you’re just gonna sit there.”  
  
Rupert did run a tight ship in that flat, didn’t he? He never minded a sip or two of his Whiskey, but an innocent ‘you got a snout, pop?’ sent him off the rails.   
  
“Guess your time as human boy made you forget. Sun and vamps? Not so mixy.”   
  
“Why do you care?” I shake my head at the endless brattle until I realize Xander is half way across the front yard. He jumps back when my eyes focus on him.   
  
“I don’t,” he gives away, heart beating fast. “Just questioning your sanity.”   
  
He’s out in the yard. He would have been standing next to me if I hadn’t looked over my shoulder. “You think I should hide for cover? Somewhere close.”  
  
He holds up his hands. “Not my house?”   
  
“Think Jesse’s treehouse would do? It’s a block ahead.”  
  
“How’d you know that?”  
  
“Told you, we were friends.”  
  
He stares at me in shock, the truth finally dawns on him. I feel a glint of hope when he takes a step forwards. There he comes, getting closer, can hear his blood pumping through his veins. Rich and ripe pulsing with life. My mouth dries at the sight of his exposed neck, that familiar feeling that strikes when the odor of Rupert’s cooking fills the air. Budding thirst subdues, fangs sharp and willing…  
  
“Don’t,” I bark, jumping off the fence, the cigarette falling to the grass.   
  
Xander freezes in place.  
  
I’m out of his sight, vampire speed to my advantage, overwhelmed with what just happened over there. That overpowering thirst, so strong and dangerous, can’t control it.   
  
Even if he does learn to trust me, I don’t think I can trust myself around him.   
  
Not when he has all that blood flowing in his veins.   
  
I’m a vampire. He’s food.  
  
It’s hopeless.   
  



	24. Chapter 24

 

 

 

 

  
I’m at my wit’s end. This irresistible urge to make Xander mine is consuming me. Gets harder every day to keep it under bloody control. I lick my lips and run my tongue over my teeth, staring at him from behind a bush. The Scooby gang are out and about in the cemetery, fighting off a nest of vampires. The fight would have been over if Buffy had brought Faith along instead of Xander and Willow, but the slayers are in the outs as it seems. I didn’t care to investigate. Can’t bring myself to care about the Slayer and her team anymore. Only one I give a toss about is him.  
  
Xander lands a punch on a larger vampire, then shakes out his hand, wincing in pain. He gets flung over the tombs and slams against a tree for his trouble.   
I look for the Slayer, but she’s nowhere to be seen. Willow isn’t around either. Time to intrude. I start approaching the boy and his attacker. Xander starts to get back to his feet, barely holding the stake in his hand. The vampire snatches the stake and tosses it away, and is about to pounce, but I pounce first and dust the wanker right where he’s standing.  
  
“You again?” I take Xander’s tone as a ‘thank you’ in the most ungrateful manner.   
  
I lick my lips again. The intense hatred in his eyes, the curve of those lips, and the tousled hair. I can’t hold it back. I can’t. I’m about to explode.   
  
He seems to have sensed that something is wrong with me and begins to step back. “No, not again, you son of a bitch!”  
  
I spring forward and pin him to the ground, his screaming which used to give me a pause, has no effect on me anymore. I flash my fangs and go for his neck, but he headbutts me hard. I loosen my grip on his wrists, and he makes use of that by connecting his fist to my jaw. It’s an okay punch, and doesn’t really hurt, but makes me want the feisty little bugger even more.   
  
“Xander! Where are you?” Willow yells from behind a nearby tree.   
  
Her voice is all the warning I needed to grab the lad and make a big exit. I fling his resisting body over my shoulder and run to the other side of the cemetery. I have him pinned up against a tree and slam my mouth against his, kissing him hard. It would’ve gone smoothly if he wasn’t moving his head left and right, trying to get away.   
  
“Hold still,” I growl, feeling my hardness against his lower stomach.   
  
His hands press against my chest, trying to push me away, and his eyes are glistening with unshed tears. “Get lost! Take a hike. Go find Drusilla! Just leave me the hell alone!”  
  
I rest my forehead on his and whisper with intensity against his lips, “I love you.”  
  
“Gross!” He headbutts me again and escapes towards the direction of his friends, but I clutch his wrist before he takes a couple of steps. “You’re as nuts as the vampire you used to date,” he says desperately, trying to pull his hand away from my grasp. “And for God’s sake, stop trying to break me and Cordelia up!”  
  
My nostrils flare as the image of the girl fills my mind. Every time I see Xander with her, it sets my blood straight to boil. It had taken all my willpower not to rip the girl’s heart out of her chest. I had a plan, knew how to be rid of the bloody bint. I had given away the truth about Xander and Red snogging under her nose. She didn’t believe me, laughed in my face. I wanted to tear that smirk off, but for some reason I restrained. Don’t know how I was able to. Now I don’t think I could hold back if I saw them together again.   
  
“You’re a two-timing tosser. She’s gonna see through you.”  
  
“We stopped. Willow and I… we haven’t shared a single smooch since that night you vampnapped us. I’ll never do it again. I won’t hurt Cordelia.” Xander pulls against my grip but it’s iron solid. “You said we were friends in that other reality.  _This_  isn’t friendship! The you-wanting-to-jump-my-bones thing is all on the twisted side of ugly.”   
  
I try to kiss him again, but he steps aside.   
  
“Man!” Xander exclaims, puckering his mouth. “The whole stalking and biting thing is getting old. I hate you! Can that get into your undead skull?”   
  
I pull his resisting body closer and look right into his eyes. “I’ll do whatever it takes to…”  
  
He shoves me away with his free hand and shuffles out of my reach. “It takes nothing because there’s no it! I’m straight as my stake!” He hopelessly glances at the piece of wood lying in the grass. “Even if I swing that way, you’re the last person on earth that I’d ever… you’re a freakin’ evil bloodsucker. And you’re much with the dead!”   
  
I tilt my head to the side. “Buffy sees nothing wrong with it.”  
  
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, newsflash,  _not_  Buffy. Besides, Angel has a soul. Last time I checked, you don’t have one. Not that it makes a difference, because I don’t make out with the undead.”   
  
I cringe at the mere mention of the foul thing. That bloody soul I used to have as a human was why I’m in deep shit. I wouldn’t have looked twice at Xander if I wasn’t a wussy human tyke trapped in the same room with the boy. It’s bloody confusing, whatever traces of humanity I brought here with me have worn off, but the intense desire for this mortal has gotten more intense. He’s all I think about, all I dream about, he’s in every face I see, every scent I smell. He’s everywhere, yet out of my reach. A forbidden fruit that I want to sink my teeth into and make him mine for eternity. Two creatures of the night, the way Drusilla and I were before she ran around with smeg demons.   
  
“Just get out of this town!” Xander says suddenly, desperation swirling out of him in waves.   
  
I realize the boy isn’t in my hold anymore. He’s slipped out of my grip and stands next to another tree, a few steps away, with a stake clutched in shaking hand and he aims it at me. “If you go all fang-crazed on me again, I’m gonna get Buffy to kick your pasty ass into the sunlight.”  
  
He hates me. It hasn’t been as clear to me as now. I want to say that it didn’t matter, that I’ll still turn him and keep him close, kicking and screaming. I know, though, that it’s not what I want. What I really want is my Xander from the other reality. The Xander who loves me, who desperately clung to me, trying to keep me with him before I was zapped back to this hell.   
  
I swallow the bile in my throat, shifting my gaze away from the hatred in his hazel eyes.  
  
“Xander!” Willow calls from behind a bunch of bushes, sounding much closer now. “Where have you been?” She stops when she notices a tense Xander aiming his stake and follows his line of sight. She gives me a small smile and waves. “Oh, hi, Spike.”  
  
Red is the only decent person out of the damn lot. Girl recognized that I did save her chum’s life when I rushed him to the hospital and always has a smile for me. Must be our little talk at the hospital. She told them all about my little trip to the other side. It’s probably why the Slayer hasn’t staked me yet.   
  
“I saved his life,” I put it out there. “From a giant vampire.”  
  
“Screw you, Spike.” Xander flips me the finger and stalks off.   
  
Willow hesitates before smiling at me again. “He’s a little pissy ‘cause he didn’t do well in math today. But thanks, for you know, saving his life. That’s very… thank you.” She waves goodbye and runs after her friend.   
  
I watch them leave, feeling the sour ball of pain inside my gut growing bigger as if it’s about to pop and break me with it.   
  
“Spike.”   
  
That calm voice with the underlying steel makes my skin crawl. Angel is the last person I want to see after another humiliating encounter with Xander.   
  
I purse my lips and turn around. He’s got his cheased off face on, eyes all red and his eyebrows stand on end like little furry animals.   
  
“Starting to lose your touch, eh? Usually you’re on my case every waking moment, day and night.”   
  
Angel had taken me in after I got back. Something about keeping an eye on me while I chose to remain in Sunnydale. He’s a vamp of his word, making a habit out of following me about everywhere I went.   
  
“This is the second time you attacked Xander this week,” he said with a hard tone, and his eyes narrowed.   
  
“Didn’t attack him, Joe Soap! Saved him from a vampire, didn’t I?”  
  
Angel’s eyes kept on squinting, as if unfazed by the true fact I just provided. “You were trying to turn him.”  
  
I shake my head and give a pretense scoff at the absurdity of his claim, which, of course, was the truth, but he doesn’t need to know that. I reach for my fag to calm my unsettling nerves. I knew I couldn’t get anything done with him breathing down my neck.   
  
I take a long drag and feel the burning smoke slither down to my malfunctioning lungs and let it sit there, a hot cloud boiling in my chest. Living in this realm gets harder every day. This sweltering desire to touch Xander, wrap his scent around me, hear his heartbeat drum in my ears is going to be the end of me. Sooner or later, everyone will be fed up with my larks and Buffy will drive her Mr. Pointy into my heart.   
  
“Why?” A vein bulges out on his forehead. “To hurt Buffy?”  
  
This time my scoff is real. “World doesn’t revolve around that bitch.”  
  
“Then why are you following Xander around trying to sire him?”  
  
My cigarette dangles from my lips, with smoke flaring up a dancing line in the air. I look at Angel, who appears quite confused at first. Seconds later, his face begins to congest as if he’s suffering from severe constipation.  
  
“Xander Harris?”   
  
A surprising surge of exasperation on Xander’s behalf soars through me. “At least I’m not harboring feelings for the bleeding Slayer,” I bark defensively. “Now that’s twisted.”  
  
“Xander Harris?” he repeats, still looking constipated.  
  
I suck in some smoke and hold it in my mouth, then blow it out into his face. This move would’ve had satisfactory results if he were a human. Angel waves the smoke away, still wearing his disgusted expression.   
  
“You don’t know him.” I spit the cigarette out of the side of my mouth to the ground. I don’t bother to put it out as I fetch for another one.   
  
Angel most likely hasn’t come across Xander rushing into a fight bigger than himself to rescue someone he cares about, or he probably did but as usual he’d only had eyes for the Slayer.   
  
“I know he’s annoying,” he puts in.   
  
A chuckle escapes my mouth. “He’s a bit of a knobhead, I’ll give you that, but there’s more to him.” There’s so much Angel doesn’t see, so much Spike has witnessed when no one else did, like all the times Xander took a punch for someone, or all the times he put himself in danger to save someone or the world. The underdog of the Scooby gang, unnoticed and dismissed as the weakest link. Kind of like Spike was in the Angelus heydays in Europe.   
  
“Does it have to do with that alternative universe you were in?” Angel asks, getting a clue. “Was their Xander less of an airhead?”  
  
I open my mouth to defend the boy’s honor, but then stop when I realize that both Xanders are not the same. They are the same in essence, but are made different by the unsimilar circumstances and experiences. My Xander had to suffer through a vengeance demon’s curse, solitude, depression, and suicidal urges. This Xander, on the other hand, hasn’t been cursed, his friendship with Buffy and Willow is tighter than ever and he is in a loving relationship with a beautiful girl. I swallow a lump as realization sinks in because he’s happy.   
  
_He’s happy_ , my mind repeats as the demon inside roars and fights against my strained control to hunt for the boy. Let’s face it, he’s never going to be mine. Might as well run into sunlight because this romance is doomed to never exist.   
  
“You didn’t answer me,” Angel says.   
  
“There’s nothing to answer.” I let out a sigh and inhale another drag of smoke.   
  
Shuffling my feet, I make my way back to the mansion, my temporary household. Kind of morbid, isn’t it? Angel chooses to live in the mansion where he had been impaled into hell by the love of his life. His own way of penance is to dwell on past mistakes for the bulk of the day. A sight I had to endure every day for the last week.   
  
At least he gets to be with the person he loves. The thought twists my guts as I hear Angel trailing after me.   
  
  
  
_~*~*~*~*~_  
  
  
  
The tip of the cigarette glows cherry red and I blow the smoke into the air. It curls through the tree branches and billows in dense clouds of cloying trails as I stand in the Harris’ empty backyard.   
  
It’s Christmas Eve. I was aware that the holiday was near when I woke up to the stench of burning sage that Angel used to repel the ghosts haunting him. Since he was generous enough to let me stay with him, I told him about The First Evil messing with his head and trying to drive him barking mad. The whole adventure with the First was sorted out right away thanks to yours truly.   
  
I took advantage of the ponce and the Slayer taking a romantic stroll down the chilly Sunnydale streets to check up on Xander. I remember him being attacked by a vampire while he camped out in the backyard to avoid his parents’ drunken fights.   
  
His parents are fighting, all right. Sounds of plates crashing and deafening insults are hard to miss.   
  
But Xander isn’t sleeping in the backyard.   
  
Must be with Cordelia, curled up by the fire, or an expensive electric heater, engaged in succulent snogging and sweet snuggles. I stare at the cigarette between my fingers, short enough to burn me. I drop what’s left of it to the ground and smash the butt to ashes with my boot. Ashes, the way my heart has been since I came back to this hell.  
  
The nausea swirls unrestrained in my empty stomach. Stopped feeding on humans for Xander, not that it did me any favors. The lad despises the ground I walk on. There you have it, a vampire who hasn’t had blood in days. Not even the foul animal blood Angel keeps in his fridge.   
  
A snowflake lands on my nose and I wipe it away. Right, magical snow. Better head back to the mansion. There’s nothing for me here.   
  
I shove my lighter in my pocket, trudging down the pavement. There’s a chill in my blood that surpasses the cold weather, growing frostier with the falling snow. I pull my coat closer as the coldness seeps to my veins and fills the never-ending dark void that consumes everything.   
  
My body come to an abrupt stop when a faint drumming of a human heartbeat becomes stronger. I lick my lips as my eyes instinctively turn gold. An unshaven, scruffy man staggers toward me with a beer bottle in his hand, slurring an incomprehensive song.   
  
Sod it! I’m famished, and I’ve got a right hankering for trolleyed geezers.   
  
I don’t waste time with chitchat. I approach the man and grab his shoulders to steady him.   
  
“Yo, man. How’s it hanging?” He bursts into a gale of unmanly giggles and brings up his bottle for another sip.   
  
I snatch the drink and toss it aside. The sound of the glass shattering on the pavement snaps the man out of his drunken daze.   
  
“What’s going on?” he exclaims, the stench of alcohol flowing from his breath.   
  
My face morphes into its vampire guise and then I plunge my fangs into his neck. His screams are long lost music to my ears. Blood, pure human blood, rushes into my mouth and fills me with strength. I relish the taste, drinking every drop, and making up for the last few days of pointless deprivation.   
  
When I drain him, I let the lifeless body drop to the ground, licking my stained lips clean. I stare at my latest kill and all I feel is an emptiness inside. Who am I fooling? I’m a vampire, a soulless evil vampire. The chances of Xander dumping his fine bird to be with me are slimmer than Angel shagging the Slayer again.   
  
I amble back the mansion with my shoulders slumped. I lower my gaze to the pavement, now covered with a white blanket of snow. Now that I’ve tasted blood, the demon inside is roaring for more, for Xander’s blood.   
  
I grit on my teeth, trying to stop the images of Xander’s neck and Xander sucking blood from my prickled wrist.   
  
I don’t want a vampire version of him, even though I know the second I see him I’m turning him into one. I want him as he is. Never going to happen though, never going to be mine.   
  
I stare at the still dark shadows inside the mansion and for a moment I consider sleeping outside, and wait for tomorrow’s sun to put me at peace. If this dimension is everything like the one I left behind, it’ll keep snowing all day tomorrow and the sun will be hidden behind the clouds.   
  
It’s useless. I shuffle my feet to Angel’s room where his king size bed rests unused. I doubt Brood Boy and his bint will be back any time soon. I don’t see myself sleeping in Drusilla’s old room, not tonight.   
  
I sit on Angel’s rusty mattress, and it gives a slight squeak under my weight. I kick off my boots and lay back, gazing at the dull ceiling.   
  
Buh, humbug! Christmas has never been this cruel to me before. Last one I had ruined all of them for me. The delicious aroma of Rupert’s dinner properly set on the dining table. Xander blurting out his usual lame jokes and Rupert sassing him back, while I’m enjoying the show and stuffing my mouth with the Watcher’s delightful cooking. Best Christmas Eve, not counting the time Dru and I dined at Bouillon Ollé in France. Although we feasted on the restaurant’s staff and customers.  
  
I slip into a restless sleep, imagining myself back at Rupert’s house with Xander and the Scooby Gang.   
  
Sudden grunting and panting stir me out of my slumber. I turn to the other side of the bed and find a naked Angel on top of an equally naked Buffy, grinding their bodies together.   
  
“What the hell?” I jump up and make yacking noises. “You should warn a bloke first!”   
  
They ignore me completely. Angel bites on Buffy’s nipple and her cry of pleasure mingles with my cry of horror.   
  
I make a quick exit out of this nightmare when a thought pops into my brain. If they keep at it, a more horrible nightmare is going to rear its ugly head. Angel will lose his soul, and since torturing Buffy with bodies of her friends is his ultimate pleasure, he’ll pluck them one after the other, including  _Xander_.   
  
I should stop them, but they’re nowhere at sight, I realize, standing in the middle of a bedroom I recognize. That long mirror, the study desk, the computer, and then my gaze falls on the small notebook on the familiar green pillow. William’s odes to Xander.   
  
This is  _my_  old room from the alternative universe. Technically, William’s room. Still, how did I end up here?  
  
I notice the framed pictures on top of the dresser are the same, one of William with Rupert, and another of William with Xander, and also Buffy and Willow in the Summers’ backyard. Everything appears the same.  
  
“Spike…Spike…” a familiar, faraway voice calls me from behind the closed door. “That’s you, Spike! It’s Xander!”  
  
An old pain that sits in my guts burns faster. Is this true? Am I back?   
  
“Spike,” Xander’s muffled whisper fills me with a joy I haven’t felt in a while.   
  
I try to move, but my feet are glued to the carpeted floor. I reach with a hand to the doorknob, but’s far, far away. I want to see him. I want to see the love in his eyes, a love that will replace all the hatred I’ve grown accustomed to.   
  
Xander speaks again, but it’s faint and uncomprehensible. “Willow and William found a way… get you back… book in the Cleveland…”  
  
_I can’t hear you well,_  is what I want to say, but the words are trapped in my throat and all I manage to let out is a strangled noise.   
  
“ _Iter in Mensura_ ,” Xander says from the other side of the door. “ _Iter in Mensura_ ,” he repeats again, and I reach for the doorknob once more about it’s still far off.  
  
I try to call out his name, but nothing comes out. I take a deep breath and yell with all my might, “Xander!”   
  
I bolt upwards and frantically look at my surroundings. This isn’t my bedroom. I’m back at the mansion. Angel darts into the room. “You okay?”  
  
“Xander…” I pant. “He was here.”  
  
Angel frowns. “That’s impossible. He went to Aspen with Cordelia for Christmas.”   
  
“I’m talking about  _my_  Xander.” If my heart could beat, it might explode out of my chest. “He was calling me outside the door.”   
  
Angel nods at the entrance. “This door?”  
  
“No.” I’m beginning to feel a tad irritated with him. “My door. The door to my bedroom.”  
  
Angel stares at me. “Hate to break it to you, but this is my bedroom, which you’re not allowed to sleep in. You have a perfectly good bedroom…”  
  
“It wasn’t this room,” I interrupt him, slipping my feet to the floor and starting pacing in the room. “I was back in my old room at the other reality.”  
  
“Spike, it’s just a dream.”   
  
I shake my head. “No, it was Xander. He found a way to get me back.”  
  
Angel scratches the back of his neck. “How?” His tone shows that he’s humoring me.   
  
“It’s a book in Cleveland.  _Iter in Mensura_. Must be the name of the book.”   
  
Angel narrows his eyes. “Are you planning to go back?”  
  
“Yes, I’m going back to Xander.” I start fiddling with a large book on the shelf. Can’t sit. Can’t stop moving. Hope is finally a bright star in a hopelessly dark universe.  
  
“Are you sure about this?” Angel sounds hesitant. Must have grown used to my company.   
  
“If I stay here, I know I’m going to kill Xander or myself eventually.” I grab a small book and flip through the pages and then toss it on the bed, locking eyes with Angel. “I need to be with him.”  
  
Angel nods and then lets out a sigh. “So, what’s the plan? You’re going to Cleveland to fetch the book?”  
  
I bite on my lower lip. “I was hoping you’d do it.”  
  
His eyebrows fly up. “Why would I do it?”  
  
“Because I’m going to be busy.”  
  
He snorts. “Busy doing what?”   
  
“Getting a soul.”  
  
Angel’s gob drops to his feet.   
  
  


~*~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super thanks to zombiegurl for being my awesome beta.


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